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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMEEICA, 



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BIRD-WAYS. i6mo, $1.25. 
IN NESTING TIME. i6mo, $1.25. 
LITTLE BROTHERS OF THE AIR. 
$1.25. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

Boston and New York. 



LITTLE BROTHERS OF 
THE AIR 



BY 



OLIVE THORNE MILLER 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK / 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1892 



/ 



• Mill 



Copyright, 1892, 
By H. M. miller. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O, Houghton & Company. 



INTRODUCTORY, 



Some of the chapters of this little book were 
written in 1888, on the shore of the Great South 
Bay, Long Island ; others in the northern part 
of New York State, known to its residents as 
the " Black River Country," a year or two later. 
Part of them have been published in The Atlan- 
tic Monthly, Harper^s Bazar, The Independent 
and other papers. 

The nomenclature in the Table of Contents is 
that adopted by the American Ornithological 
Society, 

OLIVE THORNE MILLER, 



CONTENTS. 



ON THE GREAT SOUTH BAY. 

PAGE 

I. The Kingbird's Nest 1 

Kingbird. Tyrannus tyrannus. 
II. A Chronicle of Three Little Kings . , , 19 

Kingbird. Tyrannus tyrannus, 

III. The Babes in the Wood 34 

Flicker. Colaptes auratus. 

IV. Home Life of the Redstart 48 

American Redstart. Setophaga ruticilla. 

V. When Nesting is over 61 

Thrasher. Harporhynchus rufus. 
White-bellied Swallow. Tachycineta hicolor. 
Wood Pewee. Contopus virens. 
Bluebird. Sialia sialis. 

VI. In Search of the Bluejay 76 

Bluejay. Cyanocitta cristata. 

VII. In the Wood Lot 83 

Bluejay. Cyanocitta cristata. 

VIII. The Bluejay Baby 89 

Bluejay. Cyanocitta cristata. 



vi CONTEXTS, 

IN THE BLACK RIVER COUNTRY. 

IX. That Witchlng Song 99 

Wilson's Thrush. Turdus fuscescens. 

X. The Veery Mother 107 

Wilson's Thrush. Turdus fuscescens. 

XL The Tawny Thrush's Brood 114 

Wilson's Thrush. Turdus fuscescens, 

XII. A IVlEADOW Nest 123 

Wilson's Thrush. Turdus fuscescens. 

XIII. A June Round of Calls 130 

Wood Pewee, Contopus virens. 
Junco. Junco hy emails. 
Flicker. Colaptes auratus. 
Redstart. Setophaga ruticilla. 
Sapsucker. Sphyrapicus varius, 

XIV. A Bobolink Rhapsody 138 

Bobolink. Dolichonyx oryzivorus. 

XV. The Bobolink's Nest 146 

Bobolink. Dolichonyx oryzivorus. 

XVI. The Tanagee's Nest 155 

Scarlet Tanager. Piranga erythromelas. 

XVII. The Wiles of a Warbler 163 

Black-throated Blue. Dendroica ccerulescens. 

XVIII. A Rainy-Day Tramp 173 

Oven-bird. Seiurus aurocapillus. 

XIX. The Vagaries of a Warbler 180 

Redstart. Setophaga ruticilla. 
Chestnut-sided W. Dendroica pensylvanica. 

XX. A Clever Cuckoo 190 

Black-biUed C. Coccyzus erythrophthalmus. 



CONTENTS. VU 

XXI. Two Little Drummers 201 

Sapsueker. Sphyrapicus varius. 
Red-headed Woodpecker. Melanerpes ery- 
throcephalus, 

XXII. From My Window 221 

Phoebe. Sayornis phoehe. 

Robin. Merula migrator ia. 

Great-crested Fly-catcher. Myiarchus crinitus. 

Purple Grackle. Quiscalus quiscula. 

Downy Woodpecker. Dryobates pubescens. 

Chestnut-sided Warbler. Dendroica pensyl- 

vanica. 
Kingbird. Tyrannus tyrannus. 

XXIII. The Comical Crow Baby 236 

Common Crow. Corvus Americanus. 

XXIV. A Midsummer Wooing 244 

American Goldfinch. Spinus tristis. 

XXV. A Plum-tree Romance 252 

American Goldfinch. Spinus tristis. 

XXVI. Solitary the Thrush 259 

Hermit Thrush. Turdus aonalaschJcm pallasii. 
Index 269 



ON THE GEEAT SOUTH BAY. 



Precious qualities of silence haunt 
Round these vast margins ministrant. 

'T is here, 'tis here, thou canst unhand thy heart 
And breathe it free, and breathe it free 
By rangy marsh, in lone sea-liberty. 

Sidney Lanier. 



LITTLE BROTHERS OF THE AIR. 



L 

THE kingbird's NEST. 

To study a nest is to make an acquaintance. 
However familiar the bird, unless the student 
has watched its ways during the only domestic 
period of its life, — nesting time, — he has still 
something to learn. In fact, he has almost 
everything to learn, for into those few weeks is 
crowded a whole lifetime of emotions and ex- 
periences which fully bring out the individuality 
of the bird. Family life is a test of character, 
no less in the nest than in the house. More- 
over, to a devotee of the science that some one 
has aptly called Ornithography, nothing is so 
attractive. What hopes it holds out ! Who 
can guess what mysteries shall be disclosed, 
what interesting episodes of life shall be seen 
about that charmed spot? 

To find a newly built nest is the first June 
work of the bird-student, and this year on the 



2 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

Great South Bay a particularly iuviting one 
presented itself, on tlie top branch of a tall oak- 
tree near my "inn of rest." It was in plain 
sight from the veranda. The builder evidently 
cared nothing for concealment, and relied, with 
reason, upon its inaccessible position for safety. 
To be sure, as days went by and oak leaves 
grew, a fair screen for the little dwelling was 
not lacking ; but summer breezes were kind, and 
often blew them aside, and, better still, from 
other points of view the nest was never hidden. 

To whom, then, did the nest belong ? I 
hoped to the kingbird, who at that moment sat 
demurely upon the picket fence below, appar- 
ently interested only in passing insects; and 
while I looked the question was answered by 
Madame Tyrannis herself, who came with the 
confidence of ownership, carrying a beakful of 
building material, and arranging it with great 
pains inside the structure. This was satisfac- 
tory, for I did not know the kingbird in do- 
mestic life. 

For several days it seemed uncertain whether 
the kingbirds would ever reallj^ occupy the nest, 
so spasmodic was the work upon it. Now one of 
the pair came with a bit of something, placed it, 
tried its effect this way and that, and then dis- 
appeared ; while for hours every day both might 
be seen about the place, hunting insects and tak- 



THE BANNER ON THE WALLS. 3 

ing their ease on the fence as if no thought of 
nesting ever stirred their wise little heads. The 
last addition to the domicile was curious : a soft 
white feather from the poultry yard, which was 
fastened up on the edge, and stood there floating 
in the breeze ; a white banner of peace flung 
out to the world from her castle walls. 

Peace from a kingbird? Direful tales are 
told of this bird: ''he is pugnacious," says one 
writer; "he fights everybody," adds another; 
"he is a coward," remarks a third. Science 
has dubbed him tyrant {Tyrannis)^ and his char- 
acter is supposed to be settled. But may there 
not be two sides to the story? We shall see. 
One kingbird, at least, shall be studied sympa- 
thetically; we shall try to enter his life, to 
judge him fairly, and shall above all 

" bring not 
The fancies found in books, 
Leave author's eyes, and fetch our own." 

Nearly two months that small dwelling on the 
oak was watched, day after day, early and late, 
in storm and in sunshine ; now I know at least 
one family of kingbirds, and what I know I shall 
honestly tell, "nothing extenuating." 

The house was built, the season was passing, 
yet housekeeping did not begin. The birds, in- 
deed, appeared to have abandoned the tree, and 
days went by in which I could not see that either 



4 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

visited it. But the nest was not deserted, for 
all that ; the curiosity and impertinence of the 
neighbors were simply amazing. (Perhaps the 
kingbird has some reason to be pugnacious I) 
No sooner was that tenement finished than, as 
promptly as if they had received cards to a 
house-warming, visitors began to come. First 
to show himself was an orchard oriole, who was 
in the habit of passing over the yard every day 
and stopping an hour or more in the neighbor- 
hood, while he scrambled over the trees, varying 
his lunches with a rich and graceful song. Ar- 
rived this morning in the kingbird tree, he be- 
gan his usual hunt over the top branch, when 
suddenly his eye fell upon the kingbird cradle. 
He paused, cast a wary glance about, then 
dropped to a lower perch, his singing ended, his 
manner guilty. Nearer and nearer he drew, 
looking cautiously about and moving in perfect 
silence. Still the owner did not come, and at 
last the stranger stood \ipon the edge. What 
joy ! He looked that mansion over from foun- 
dation to banner fluttering in the wind ; he ex- 
amined closely its construction; with head 
turned over one side, he criticised its general 
effect, and apparently did not think much of it; 
he gratified to the full his curiosity, and after 
about one minute's study flew to the next tree, 
and resumed his singing. 



NEIGHBORHOOD INTEREST, 6 

The next arrival was a pewee, whose own nest 
was nearly built, in a wild-cherry tree not far 
off. The fence under the oak was his usual 
perch, and it was plain that he made his first 
call with "malice aforethought;" for, disdain- 
ing the smallest pretense of interest in it, he 
flew directly to the nest, hovered beneath it, and 
pulled out some part of the building material 
that pleased his fancy, — nothing less than pure 
thievery. 

Among the occasional visitors to the yard 
were two American goldfinches, or thistle -birds, 
in bright yellow and black plumage, both males. 
They also went to the new homestead in the 
oak, inspected it, chatted over it in their sweet 
tones, and then passed on. It began to look as 
though the nest were in the market for any one 
to choose, and the string of company was not yet 
ended. 

Soon after the goldfinches had passed by, 
there alighted a gay Baltimore oriole, who, not 
content with looking at the new castle in the air, 
must needs try it. He actually stepped into the 
nest and settled down as if sitting. Who 
knows but he was experimenting to see if this 
simple, wide-open cradle wouldn't do as well 
for oriole babies as for kingbirds? Certainly 
it was a curious performance. It made an im- 
pression on him too, for the next day he came 



6 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

again ; and this time he picked at it, and seemed 
to be changing its interior arrangement, but 
he carried nothing away when he flew. Even 
after sitting began, this oriole paid two more 
visits to the nest which so interested him. On 
the first occasion, the owner was at home, and 
gave him instant notice that the place was no 
longer on view. He retired, but, being no cow- 
ard, and not choosing to submit to dictation, he 
came again. This time, a fly-up together, a 
clinch in the air, with loud and offensive re- 
marks, cured him of further desire to call. 

More persistent than any yet mentioned was 
a robin. Heretofore, strange to say, the guests 
had all been males, but this caller was the mo- 
ther of a young brood in the next yard. She 
came in her usual way, alighted on a low branch, 
ran out upon it, hopped to the next higher, and 
so proceeded till she reached the nest. The 
kingbird happened to be near it himself, and 
drove her away in an indifferent manner, as if 
this interloper were of small account. The 
robin went, of course, but returned, and, perch- 
ing close to the object of interest, leaned over 
and looked at it as long as she chose, while the 
owner stood calmly by on a twig and did not in- 
terfere. I know he was not afraid of the robin, 
as later events proved ; and it really looked as if 
the pair deliberately delayed sitting to give the 



MADAM TRIES THE NEST, 7 

neighborhood a chance to satisfy its curiosity; 
as if they thus proclaimed to whom it might con- 
cern that there was to be a kingbird household, 
that they might view it at their leisure before 
it was occupied, but after that no guests were 
desired. Whatever the cause, the fact is, that 
once completed, the nest was almost entirely 
abandoned by the builders for several days, dur- 
ing which this neighborhood inspection went on. 
They even deserted their usual hunting-ground, 
and might generally be seen at the back of the 
house, awaiting their prey in the most uncon- 
cerned manner. 

However, time was passing, and one day Ma- 
dame Tyrannis herself began to call, but fitfully. 
Sometimes she stayed about the nest one min- 
ute, sometimes five minutes, but was restless; 
picking at the walls, twitching the leaves that 
hung too near, rearranging the lining, trying it 
this way and that, as if to see how it fitted her 
figure, and how she should like it when she was 
settled. First she tried sitting with face look- 
ing toward the bay; then she jerked herself 
around, without rising, and looked awhile toward 
the house. She had as much trouble to get mat- 
ters adjusted to her mind as if she had a house- 
ful of furniture to place, with carpets to lay, 
curtains to hang, and the thousand and one 
''things" with which we bigger housekeepers 



8 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

cumber ourselves and make life a burden. This 
spasmodic visitation went on for days, and finally 
it was plain that sitting had begun. Still the 
birds of the vicinity were interested callers, 
and I began to think that one kingbird would 
not even protect his nest, far less justify his rep- 
utation by tyrannizing over the feathered world. 
But when his mate had seriously established 
herself, it was time for the head of the household 
to assume her defense, and he did. 

As usual, the kingbird united the characters 
of brave defender and tender lover. To his 
spouse his manners were charming. When he 
came to relieve her of her care, to give her exer- 
cise or a chance for luncheon, he greeted her with 
a few low notes, and alighted on a small leafless 
twig that curved up about a foot above the nest, 
and made a perfect watch-tower. She slipped 
off her seat and disappeared for about six min- 
utes. During her absence he stayed at his post, 
sometimes changing his perch to one or other of 
haK a dozen leafless branchlets in that part of 
the tree, and there sitting, silent and watchful, 
ready to interview any stranger who appeared. 
Upon her return he again saluted her with a few 
words, adding to them a lifting of wings and 
spreading of his beautiful tail that most comi- 
cally suggested the bowing and hat-lifting of 
bigger gentlemen. In all their life together, 



GREETING HIS MATE, 9 

even when the demands of three infants kept 
them busy from morning till night, he never 
forgot this little civility to his helpmate. If she 
alighted beside him on the fence, he rose a few 
inches above his perch, and flew around in a 
small circle while greeting her ; and sometimes, 
on her return to the nest, he described a larger 
circle, talking (as I must call it) all the time. 
Occasionally, when she approached, he flew out 
to meet and come back with her, as if to escort 
her. Could this bird, to his mate so thoughtful 
and polite, be to the rest of the world the bully 
he is pictured? Did he, who for ten months of 
the year shows less curiosity about others, and 
attends more perfectly to his own business than 
any bird I have noticed, suddenly, at this crisis 
in his life, become aggressive, and during these 
two months of love and paternity and hard work, 
make war upon a peaceful neighborhood ? 

I watched closely. There was not an hour of 
the day, often from four A. M. to eight P. M., 
that I had not the kingbird and his nest directly 
in sight, and hardly a movement of his life es- 
caped me. There he stood, on the fence under 
his tree, on a dead bush at the edge of the bay, 
or on the lowest limb of a small pear-tree in the 
yard. Sometimes he dashed into the air for his 
prey; sometimes he dropped to the ground to 
secure it; but oftenest, especially when baby 



10 THJE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

throats grew clamorous, he hovered over the 
rank grass on the low land of the shore, wings 
beating, tail wide spread, diving now and then 
for an instant to snatch a morsel; and every 
thirty minutes, as punctually as if he carried a 
watch in his trim white vest, he took a direct 
line for the home where his mate sat waiting. 

A few days after the little dame took posses- 
sion of the nest, the kingbird had succeeded, 
without much trouble, in making most of his 
fellow-creatures understand that he laid claim 
to the upper branches of the oak, and was pre- 
pared to defend them against all comers, and 
they simply gave the tree a wide berth in pass- 
ing. 

Apparently deceived by his former indiffer- 
ence, however, the robin above mentioned pre- 
sumed to call somewhat later. This time she 
was received in a manner that plainly showed 
she was no longer welcome. She retired, but 
she expressed her mind freely for some time, sit- 
ting on the fence below. With true robin per- 
sistence she did not give it up, and she selected 
for her next call the dusk of evening, just before 
going to bed. 

This time both kingbirds flung themselves 
after her, and she left, ''laughing" as she went. 
The kingbirds did not follow beyond their own 
borders, and the robin soon returned to the near- 



THE ROBIN SPEAKS HER MIND. 11 

est tree, where she kept up the taunting "he! 
he! he! "a long time, seemingly with deliberate 
intention to insult or enrage her pursuers, but 
without success ; for unless she came to their tree, 
the kingbirds paid her not the slightest atten- 
tion. 

The last time the robin tried to be on friendly 
terms with her neighbor, I noticed her stand- 
ing near him on the picket fence under his tree. 
There were not more than three pickets between 
them, and she was expostulating earnestly, with 
flirting tail and jerking wings, and with loud 
"tut ! tut's," and "he ! he's ! " she managed to 
be very eloquent. Had he driven her from his 
nest? and was she complaining? I could only 
guess. The kingbird did not reply to her, but 
when she flew he followed, and she did not cease 
telling him what she thought of him as she flew, 
till out of sight. 

Strangest of all was the fact that, during the 
whole of this scene, her mate stood on the fence 
within a dozen feet, and looked on! Did he 
think her capable of managing her own affairs ? 
Did he prefer to be on good terms with his pep- 
pery neighbor? or was it because with her it 
would be a war of words, while if he entered the 
arena it must be a fight? as we sometimes see, 
when a man goes home fighting drunk, every 
man of the neighborhood keeps out of sight. 



12 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

while all the women go out and help his wife to 
get him home. The most troublesome meddler 
was, as might be expected, an English sparrow. 
From the time when the first stick was laid till 
the babies were grow^i and had left the tree, that 
bird never ceased to intrude and annoy. He 
visited the nest when empty ; he managed to have 
frequent peeps at the young ; and notwithstand- 
ing he was driven off every time, he still hung 
around, with prying ways so exasperating that 
he well deserved a thrashing, and I wonder he 
did not get it. He was driven away rejDcat- 
edly, and he was "picked off" from below, and 
pounced upon from above, but he never failed to 
return. 

Another visitor of whom the kingbird seemed 
suspicious was a purple crow blackbird, who 
every day passed over. This bird and the com- 
mon crow were the only ones he drove away 
without waiting for them to alight ; and if half 
that is told of them be true, he had reason to 
do so. 

With none of these intruders had the king- 
bird any quarrel when away from his nest. The 
blackbird, to whom he showed the most violence, 
hunted peacefully beside him on the grass all 
day ; the robin alighted near him on the fence, 
as usual; the orioles scrambled over the neigh- 
boring trees, singing and eating, as was their 



BAD-WEATHER MANNERS, 13 

custom; even the English sparrow carried on 
his vulgar squabbles on his own branch of the 
oak all day; but to none of them did the king- 
bird pay the slightest attention. He simply and 
solely defended his own household. 

In the beginning the little dame took sitting 
very easy, fidgeting about in the nest, standing 
up to dress her feathers, stretching her neck to 
see what went on in the yard below, and step- 
ping out upon a neighboring twig to rest herseK. 
After a few days she settled more seriously to 
work, and became very quiet and patient. Her 
mate never brought food to her, nor did he once 
take her place in the nest ; not erven during a 
furious northeast gale that turned June into 
November, and lasted thirty-six hours, most of 
the time with heavy rain, when the top branch 
bent and tossed, and threatened every moment a 
catastrophe. In the house, fires were built and 
books and work brought out ; but the bird-stu- 
dent, wrapped in heavy shawls, kept close watch 
from an open window, and noted well the bad- 
weather manners of Tyrannis. Madame sat very 
close, head to the northeast, and tail, narrowed 
to the width of one feather, pressed against a 
twig that grew up behind the nest. All through 
the storm, I think the head of the famity re- 
mained in a sheltered part of the tree, but he 
did not come to the usual twigs which were so 



14 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

exposed. I know he was near, for I heard him, 
and occasionally saw him standing with body- 
horizontal instead of upright, as usual, the bet- 
ter to maintain his position against the wind. 
At about the ordinary intervals the sitter left her 
nest, without so much as a leaf to cover it, and 
was absent perhaps half as long as common, but 
not once did her mate assume her post. 

How were this pair distinguished from each 
other, since there is no difference in their dress ? 
First, by a fortunate peculiarity of marking ; 
the male had one short tail feather, that, when 
he was resting, showed its white tip above the 
others, and made a perfectly distinct and (with a 
glass) plainly visible mark. Later, when I had 
become familiar with the very different manners 
of the pair, I did not need this mark to distin- 
guish the male, though it remained en evidence 
all through the two months I had them under 
observation. 

During the period of sitting, life went on with 
great regularity. The protector of the nest 
perched every night in a poplar-tree across the 
yard, and promptly at half past four o'clock 
every morning began his matins. SurjDrised and 
interested by an unfamiliar song, I rose one day 
at that unnatural hour to trace it home. It 
was in that enchanting time when men are still 
asleep in their nests, and even ''My Lord Sun '' 



SONG OF THE KINGBIRD. 15 

has not arisen from his ; when the air is sweet 
and fresh, and as free from the dust of man's 
coming and going as if his tumults did not exist. 
It was so still that the flit of a wing was almost 
startling. The water lapped softly against the 
shore ; but who can 

"Write in a book the morning's prime, 
Or match with words that tender sky ' ' ? 

The song that had called me up was a sweet 
though simple strain, and it was repeated every 
morning while his mate was separated from him 
by her nest duties. I can find no mention of it 
in books, but I had many opportunities to study 
it, and thus it was. It began with a low king- 
bird "Kr-r-r" (or rolling sound impossible to 
express by letters), without which I should not 
have identified it at first, and it ended with a 
very sweet call of two notes, five tones apart, 
the lower first, after a manner suggestive of the 
phoebe — something like this: " Kr-r-r-r-r-ree- 
be! Kr-r-r-r-r-ree-be ! " In the outset, and I 
think I heard the very first attempt, it resem- 
bled the initial efforts of cage - birds, when 
spring tunes their throats. The notes seemed 
hard to get out; they were weak, uncertain, 
fluttering, as if the singer were practicing some- 
thing quite new. But as the days went by they 
grew strong and assured, and at last were a joy- 
ous and loud morning greeting. I don't know 



16 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

why I should be so surprised to hear a kingbird 
sing, for I believe that one of the things we shall 
discover, when we begin to study birds alive in- 
stead of dead, is that every one has a song, at 
least in spring, when, in the words of an enthu- 
siastic bird-lover, "the smallest become poets, 
often sublime songsters." I have already heard 
several sing that are set down as lacking in that 
mode of expression. 

To return to my kingbird, struggling with his 
early song. After practicing perhaps fifteen or 
twenty minutes, he left his perch, flew across 
the yard, and circled around the top bough, with 
his usual good-morning to his partner, who at 
once slipped off and went for her breakfast, 
while he stayed to watch the nest. 

This magic dawn could not last. It grew 
lighter ; the sun was bestirring himself. I heard 
oars on the bay ; and now that the sounds of 
men began, the robin mounted the fence and 
sang his waking song. The rogue ! — he had 
been "laughing" and shouting for an hour. 
"Awake! awake! " he seemed to say; and on 
our dreamy beds we hear him, and think it the 
first sound of the new day. Then, too, came 
the jubilee of the English sparrow, welcoming 
the appearance of mankind, whose waste and 
improvidence supply so easily his larder. Why 
should he spend his time hunting insects ? The 



CHARACTER OF ONE KINGBIRD. 17 

kitchen will open, the dining-room follows, and 
crumbs are sure to result. He will wait, and 
meanwhile do his best to waken his purveyor. 

I found this to be the almost invariable pro- 
gramme of kingbird life at this period: after 
matins, the singer flew to the nest tree, and his 
spouse went to her breakfast; in a few seconds 
he dropped to the edge of the nest, looked long 
and earnestly at the contents, then flew to one 
of his usual perching-places near by, and re- 
mained in silence till he saw the little mother 
coming. During the day he relieved her at the 
intervals mentioned, and at night, when she had 
settled to rest, he stayed at his post on the fence 
till almost too dark to be seen, and then took 
his way, with a good-night greeting, to his sleep- 
ing-place on the poplar. 

Thus matters went through June till the 29th, 
when, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, 
there was an unusual stir about the kingbird 
castle. I saw that something had happened, and 
this must open a new chapter. But before be- 
ginning the chronicle of the kingbird babies, I 
should like to give my testimony about one mem- 
ber of the family. As a courteous and tender 
spouse, as a devoted father and a brave defender 
of his household, I know no one who outranks 
him. In attending to his own business and 
never meddling with others, he is unexcelled. 



18 THE KINGBIRD'S NEST. 

In regard to his fighting, he has driven many 
away from his tree, as do all birds, but he never 
sought a quarrel ; and the only cases of anything 
like a personal encounter were with the two 
birds who insisted on annoying him. He is 
chivalrous to young birds not his own, as will 
appear in the story of his family. He is, in- 
deed, usually silent, perhaps even solemn, but 
he may well be so ; he has an important duty to 
perform in the world, and one that should bring 
him thanks and protection instead of scorn and 
a bad name. It is to reduce the number of 
man's worst enemies, the vast army of insects. 
What we owe to the fly-catchers, indeed, we 
can never guess, although, if we go on destroy- 
ing them, we may have our eyes opened most 
thoroughly. Even if the most serious charge 
against the kingbird is true, that he eats bees, 
it were better that every bee on the face of the 
earth should perish than that his efficient work 
among other insects should be stopped. 



II. 

A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS, 

There was 

'' Riot of roses and babel of birds, 
All tbe world in a whirl of delight," 

when the three baby kingbirds opened their 
eyes to the June sunlight. Three weeks I had 
watched, if I had not assisted at, the rocking of 
their cradle, followed day by day the patient 
brooding, and carefully noted the manners and 
customs of the owners thereof. At last my long 
vigil was rewarded. It was near the end of a 
lovely June day, when June days were nearly 
over, that there appeared a gentle excitement in 
the kingbird family. The faithful sitter arose, 
with a peculiar cry that brought her mate at 
once to her side, and both looked eagerly together 
into the nest that held their hopes. Once or 
twice the little dame leaned over and made some 
arrangements within, and then suddenly she 
slipped back into her place, and her spouse flew 
away. But something had happened, it was 
plain to see ; for from that moment she did not 



20 A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

sit SO closely, lier mate showed unusual interest 
in the nest, and both of them often stood upon 
the edge at the same time. That day was doubt- 
less the birthday of the first little king. 

To be sure, the careful mother still sat on the 
nest part of every day, but that she continued 
to do, with ever-lengthening intervals, till every 
infant had grown up and left the homestead for- 
ever. 

All through the sitting the work of the head 
of the family had been confined to encouraging 
his partner with an early morning song and his 
cheerful presence during the day, and to guard- 
ing the nest while she sought her food ; but now 
that her most fatiguing labor was over, his 
began. At first he took entire charge of the 
provision supply, while she kept her nurslings 
warm and quiet, which every mother, little or 
big, knows is of great importance. When the 
young father arrived with food, which he did 
frequently, his spouse stepped to the nearest 
twig and looked on with interest, while he 
leaned over and filled one little mouth, or at any 
rate administered one significant poke which 
must be thus interpreted. He did not stay long ; 
indeed, he had not time, for this way of supply- 
ing the needs of a family is slow business ; and 
although there were but three mouths to fill, 
three excursions and three hunts were required to 



BIBB BABY TALK. 21 

fill them. In the early morning he seemed to 
have more leisure ; at that time, the happy young 
couple stood one each side of the nest, and the 
silent listener would hear the gentle murmurs of 
what Victor Hugo calls ''the airy dialogues of 
the nest." Ah, that our dull ears could under- 
stand ! 

For some days the homestead was never left 
alone, and the summer breezes 

" Softly rocked the babies three, 
Nestled under the mother's wing," 

almost as closely as before they came out of the 
egg. But much of the time she sat on the edge, 
while her partner came and went, always linger- 
ing a moment to look in. It was pretty to see 
him making up his mind where to put the mor- 
sel, so small that it did not show in the beak. 
He turned his head one side and then the other, 
considered, decided, and at last thrust it in the 
selected mouth. 

The resting-time of the newly made matron 
was short ; for when those youngsters were four 
days old — so fast do birdlings grow — the labor 
of both parents was required to keep them fed. 
Every ten minutes of the day one of the pair 
came to the nest : the father invariablv alisfhted, 
deliberated, fed, and then flew ; while the mother 
administered her mouthful, and then either 
slipped into the nest, covering her bantlings 



22 A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

completely, or rested upon the edge for several 
minutes. There was always a marked differ- 
ence in th^ conduct of the pair. 

Six days the kingbird babies were unseen 
from below ; but on the seventh day of their life 
two downy gray caps were lifted above the edge 
of the dwelling, accompanied by two small yel- 
low beaks, haK open for what goods the gods 
might provide. After that event, whenever the 
tender mother sat on her nest, two — and later 
three — little heads showed plainly against her 
satiny white breast, as if they were resting there, 
making a lovely picture of motherhood. 

Not for many days lasted the open -mouth baby 
stage in these rapidly developing youngsters. 
Very soon they were pert and wide awake, look- 
ing upon the green world about them with calm 
eyes, and opening mouths only when food was to 
be expected. Mouthfuls, too, were no longer of 
the minute order; they were large enough for 
the parents themselves, and of course plain to 
be seen. Sometimes, indeed, as in the case of a 
big dragon-fly, the father was obliged to hold 
on, while the young hopeful pulled off piece 
after piece, until it was small enough for him to 
manage ; occasionally, too, when the morsel was 
particularly hard, the little king passed it back 
to the giver, who stood waiting, and received 
it again when it had been apparently crushed 



WAR ON THE INSECTS. 23 

or otherwise prepared, so that he could swal- 
low it. 

Midsummer was at hand. The voices of 
young birds were heard on every side. The 
young thrasher and the robin chirped in the 
grove; sweet bluebird and pewee baby cries 
came from the shrubbery; the golden-wing 
leaned far out of his oaken walls, and called 
from morning to night. Hard-working parents 
rushed hither and thither, snatching, digging, 
or dragging their prey from every imaginable 
hiding-place. It was woful times in the insect 
world, so many new hungry mouths to be filled. 
All this life seemed to stir the young kings : they 
grew restless; they were late. Their three lit- 
tle heads, growing darker every day, bobbed this 
way and that ; they changed places in the nest ; 
they thrust out small wings; above all and 
through all, they violently preened themselves. 
In fact, this elaborate dressing of feathers was 
their constant business for so long a time that I 
thought it no wonder the grown-up kingbird 
pays little attention to his dress; he does 
enough pluming in the nursery to last a lifetime. 

On the twelfth day of their life, the young 
birds added their voices to the grand world- 
chorus in a faint, low "che-up," delivered with 
a kingbird accent ; then, also, they began to sit 
up calmly, and look over the edge of the nest at 



24 A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

what went on below, quite in the manner of 
their fathers. Two days later, the first little 
king mounted the walls of his castle, fluttered 
his wings, and apparently meditated the grand 
plunge into the world outside of home. So ab- 
sorbed was he in his new emotions that he did 
not see the arrival of something to eat, and gut 
in a claim for his share, as usual. I thought he 
was about to bid farewell to his birthplace. 
But I did not know him. Not till the youngest 
of the family was ready to go did he step out of 
the nest, — the three were inseparable. While 
I waited, expecting every moment to see him fly, 
there was a sudden change in the air, and very 
shortly a furious storm of wind and rain broke 
over us. Instantly every young bird subsided 
into the nest, out of sight ; and in a few minutes 
their mother came, and gave them the protection 
of her presence. 

Several days were spent by the oak-tree house- 
hold in shaking out the wings, taking observa- 
tions of the world, dressing the feathers, and 
partaking of luncheon every few minutes. Such 
a nestful of restlessness I never saw; the con- 
stant wonder was that they managed not to fall 
out. Often the three sat up side by side on the 
edge, white breasts shining in the sun, and 
heads turning every way with evident interest. 
The dress was now almost exactly like the par- 



IN FULL DRESS. 25 

ents'. No speckled bib, like the bluebird or 
robin infant's, defaces the snowy breast; no 
ugly gray coat, like the redwing baby's, obscures 
the beauty of the little kingbird's attire. He 
enters society in full dress. 

But each day, now, the trio grew in size, in 
repose of manner, and in strength of voice ; and 
before long they sat up hours at a time, patient, 
silent, and ludicrously resembling the 

* ' Three wise men of Gotham 
Who went to sea in a bowl." 

In spite of their grown-up looks and manners, 
they did not lose their appetite ; and from break- 
fast, at the unnatural hour of half past four in 
the morning, till a late supper, when so dark 
that I could see only the movement of feeding 
like a silhouette against the white clouds, all 
through the day, food came to the nest every two 
minutes or less. Think of the work of those 
two birds! Every mouthful brought during 
those fifteen and a half hours required a separate 
hunt. They usually flew out to a strip of low 
land, where the grass was thick and high. Over 
this they hovered with beautiful motion, and 
occasionally dropped an instant into the grass. 
The capture made, they started at once for the 
nest, resting scarcely a moment. There were 
thus between three and four hundred trips a 
day, and of course that number of insects were 



26 A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

destroyed. Even after the salt bath, which one 
bird took always about eleven in the morning, 
and the other about four in the afternoon, they 
did not stop to dry their plumage ; but simply 
passed the wing feathers through the beak, pay- 
ing no attention to the breast feathers, which 
often hung in locks, showing the dark part next 
the body, and so disguising the birds that I 
scarcely knew them when they came to the nest. 

The bath was interesting. The river, so 
called, was in fact an arm of the Great South 
Bay, and of course salt. To get a bath, the bird 
flew directly into the water, as if after a fish; 
then came to the fence to shake himself. Some- 
times the dip was repeated once or twice, but 
more often bathing ended with a single plunge. 

Two weeks had passed over their heads, and 
the three little kings had for several days dallied 
with temptation on the brink before one set foot 
outside the nest. Even then, on the fifteenth 
day, he merely reached the doorstep, as it were, 
the branch on which it rested. However, that 
was a great advance. He shook himself thor- 
oughly, as if glad to have room to do so. This 
venturesome infant hopped about four inches 
from the walls of the cottage, looked upon the 
universe from that remote point, then hurried 
back to his brothers, evidently frightened at his 
own boldness. 



A NURSERY LESSON. 27 

On the day of this first adventure began a 
mysterious performance, the meaning of which I 
did not understand till later, when it became 
very familiar. It opened with a peculiar call, 
and its object was to rouse the young to follow. 
So remarkable was the effect upon them that I 
have no doubt a mob of kingbirds could be 
brought together by its means. It began, as I 
said, with a call, a low, prolonged cry, sound- 
ing, as nearly as letters can express it, like 
"Kr-r-r-r! Kr-r-r-r! " At the same moment, 
both parents flew in circles around the tree, a 
little above the nest, now and then almost touch- 
ing it, and all the time uttering the strange cry. 
At the first sound, the three young kings 
mounted the edge, wildly excited, dressing their 
plumage in the most frantic manner, as if their 
lives depended on being off in an instant. It 
lasted but a few moments: the parents flew 
away; the youngsters calmed down. 

In a short time all the nestlings were accus- 
tomed to going out upon the branch, where they 
clustered together in a little row, and called 
and plumed alternately; but one after another 
slipped back into the dear old home, which they 
apparently found it very hard to leave. Often, 
upon coming out of the house, after the impera- 
tive demands of luncheon or dinner had dragged 
me for a time away from my absorbing study. 



28 A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

not a kingbird, old or young, could be seen. 
The oak was deserted, the nest perfectly silent. 

''They have flown ! " I thought. 

But no : in a few minutes small heads began 
to show above the battlements ; and in ten sec- 
onds after the three little kings were all in sight, 
chirping and arranging their dress with fresh 
vigor, after their nap. 

Not one of the young family tried his wings 
till he was seventeen days old. The first one 
flew perhaps fifteen feet, to another branch of 
the native tree, caught at a cluster of leaves, 
held on a few seconds, then scrambled to a twig 
and stood up. The first flight accomplished! 
After resting some minutes, he flew back home, 
alighting more easily this time, and no doubt 
considered himself a hero. Whatever his feel- 
ings, it was evident that he could fly, and he 
was so pleased with his success that he tried it 
again and again, always keeping within ten or 
fifteen feet of home. Soon his nest-fellows be- 
gan to follow his example ; and then it was in- 
teresting to see them, now scattered about the 
broad old tree, and then, in a little time, all 
back in the nest, as if they had never left it. 
After each excursion came a long rest, and every 
time they went out they flew with more free- 
dom. Never were young birds so loath to leave 
the nursery, and never were little folk so clan- 



THE FIRST NIGHT OUT. 29 

nish. It looked as if they had resolved to 
make that homestead on the top branch their 
headquarters for life, and, above all, never to 
separate. That night, however, came the first 
break, and they slept in a droll little row, so close 
that they looked as if welded into one, and about 
six feet from home. For some time after they 
had settled themselves the mother sat by them, 
as if she intended to stay; but when it had 
grown quite dark, her mate sailed out over the 
tree calling ; and she, — well, the babies were 
grown up enough to be out in the world, — she 
went with her spouse to the poplar-tree. 

Progress was somewhat more rapid after this 
experience, and in a day or two the little kings 
were flying freely, by short flights, all about the 
grove, which came quite up to the fence. Now 
I saw the working of the strange migrating call 
above mentioned. Whenever the old birds be- 
gan the cries and the circling flight, the young 
were thrown into a fever of excitement. One 
after another flew out, calling and moving in 
circles as long as he could keep it up. For five 
minutes the air was full of kingbird cries, both 
old and young, and then fell a sudden silence. 
Each young bird dropped to a perch, and the 
elders betook themselves to their hunting-ground 
as calmly as if they had not been stirring up a 
rout in the family. Usually, at the end of the 



30 .4 CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

affair, the youngsters found themselves widely 
apart ; for they had not yet learned to fly to- 
gether, and to be apart was, above all things, 
repugnant to the three. They began calling; 
and the sound was potent to reunite them. 
From this side and that, by easy stages, came a 
little kingbird, each flight bringing them nearer 
each other ; and before two minutes had passed 
they were nestled side by side, as close as ever. 
There they sat an hour or two and uttered their 
cries, and there they were hunted up and fed by 
the parents. There, I almost believe, they would 
have stayed till doomsday, but for the periodical 
stirring up by the mysterious call. No matter 
how far they wandered, — and each day it was 
farther and farther, — seven o'clock always 
found them moving ; and all three came back to 
the native tree for the night, though never to 
the nest again. 

No characteristic of the young kingbirds was 
more winning than their confiding and unsus- 
picious reception of strangers, for so soon as 
they began to frequent other trees than the one' 
the paternal vigilance had made comparatively 
sacred to them, they were the subjects of atten- 
tion. The English sparrow was first, as usual, 
to inquire into their right to be out of their own 
tree. He came near them, alighted, and began 
to hop still closer. Not in the least startled by 



IMPERTINENCE OF A VIREO. 81 

his threatening manner, the nearest youngster 
looked at him, and began to flutter his wings, to 
call, and to move toward him, as if expecting to 
be fed. This was too much even for a sparrow ; 
he departed. 

Another curious visitor was a red-eyed vireo, 
who, being received in the same innocent and 
childlike way, also took his leave. But this 
bird appeared to feel insulted, and in a few 
minutes stole back, and took revenge in a most 
peculiar way; he hovered under the twig on 
which the three were sitting, their dumpy tails 
hanging down in a row, and actually twitched 
the feathers of those tails ! Even that did not 
frighten the little ones; they leaned far over 
and stared at their assailant, but nothing more. 
I looked carefully to see if the vireo had a nest 
on that tree, so strange a thing it seemed for a 
bird to do. The tree was quite tall, with few 
branches, an oak grown in a close grove, and I 
am sure there was no vireo nest on it ; so that it 
was an absolutely gratuitous insult. 

In addition to supplying the constantly grow- 
ing appetites of the family, the male kingbird 
did not forget to keep a sharp lookout for in- 
truders; for, until the youngsters could take 
care of themselves, he was bound to protect 
them. One day a young robin alighted nearer 
to the little group than he considered altogether 



32 A CHRONICLE OF THREE LITTLE KINGS. 

proper, and he started, full tilt, toward him. 
As he drew near, the alarmed robin uttered his 
baby cry, when instantly the kingbird wheeled 
and left ; nor did he notice the stranger again, 
although he stayed there a long time. But when 
an old robin came to attend to his wants, that 
was a different matter; the kingbird went at 
once for the grown-up bird, thus proving that 
he spared the first one because of his babyhood. 
It was not till they were three weeks old that 
the little kings began to fly any lower than 
about the level of their nest. Then one came to 
the fence, and the others to the top of a grape- 
trellis. I hoped to see some indication of look- 
ing for food, and I did ; but it was alT looking 
up and calling on the parents ; not an eye was 
turned earthward. Now the young ones began 
to fly more nearly together, and one could see 
that a few days' more practice would enable 
them to fly in a compact little flock. Shortly 
before this they had ceased to come to the na- 
tive tree at night, and by day extended their 
wanderings so far that sometimes they were not 
heard for hours. Regularly, however, as night 
drew near, the migrating cry sounded in the 
grove, and upon going out I always found them 
together, — three 

*' Silver brown little birds, 
Sitting close in the branches." 



FAREWELL TO THE LITTLE KINGS. 33 

These interesting bantlings were twenty-four 
days old when it became necessary for me to 
leave them, as they had already left me. It was 
a warm morning, near the end of July, and 
about half an hour before I must go I went out 
to take my last look at them. Their calls were 
still loud and frequent, and I had no difficulty 
in tracing them to a dead twig near the top of a 
pine-tree, where they sat close together, as usual, 
with faces to the west ; lacking only in length of 
tail of being as big as their parents, yet still 
calling for food, and still, to all appearances, 
without the smallest notion that they could ever 
help themselves. 

Thus I left them. 



III. 

THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 

The little liome in the wood was well hidden. 
About its door were no signs of life, no chips 
from its building, no birds lingering near, no 
external indication whatever. In silence the 
tenants came and went; neither calls, songs, nor 
indiscreet tapping gave hint of the presence of 
woodpeckers in the neighborhood, and food was 
sought out of sight and hearing of the carefully- 
secluded spot. No one would have suspected 
what treasures were concealed within the rough 
trunk of that old oak but for an accident. 

Madam herself was the culprit. In carrying 
out an eggshell, broken at one end and of no 
further use, she dropped it near the foot of the 
tree. To her this was doubtless a disaster, but 
to me it was a treasure-trove, for it told her well- 
kept secret. The hint was taken, the home soon 
found in the heart of an oak, with entrance 
twenty feet from the ground, and close watching 
from a distance revealed the owner, a golden- 
winged woodpecker. 

The tree selected by the shy young pair for 



A QUIET PAIR. 35 

their nursery stood in a pleasant bit of woods, 
left wild, on the shore of the Great South Bay, 
"where precious qualities of silence haunt," and 
the delicious breath of the sea mingled with the 
fragrance of pines. One must be an enthusiast 
to spy out the secrets of a bird's life, and this 
pair of golden-wings made more than common 
demand on the patience of the student, so silent, 
so wary, so wisely chosen, their sanctum. Be- 
fore the door hung a friendly oak branch, heavy 
with leaves, that swayed and swung with every 
breeze. Now it hid the entrance from the east, 
now from the west, and with every change of the 
vagrant wind the observer must choose a new 
point of view. 

Then the birds ! Was ever a pair so quiet ? 
Without a sound they came, on level path, to 
the nest, dropped softly to the trunk, slipped 
quickly in, and, after staying about one minute 
inside, departed as noiselessly as they came. 
Their color, too! One would think a bird of 
that size, of golden-brown mottled with black, 
with yellow feather-shafts and a brilliant scarlet 
head-band, must be conspicuous. But so per- 
fectly did the soft colors harmonize with the 
rough, sun-touched bark, so misleading were the 
shadows of the leaves moving in the breeze, and 
so motionless was the bird flattened against the 
trunk, that one might look directly at it and not 
see it. 



36 THE BABES IN THE WOOD, 

For a few days the woodpeckers were so timid 
that I was unable to secure a good look at them. 
The marked difference of manner, however, con- 
vinced me that both parents were engaged in at- 
tending upon the young family ; and as they grew 
less vigilant and I learned to distinguish them, 
I discovered that it was so. The only dissimi- 
larity in dress between the lord and lady of the 
golden-wing family is a small black patch de- 
scending from the beak of the male, answering 
very well to the mustache of bigger "lords of 
creation." In coming to the nest, one of the 
pair flew swiftly, just touched for an instant the 
threshold, and disappeared within ; this I found 
to be the head of the household. The other, 
the mother, as it proved, being more cautious, 
alighted at the door, paused, thrust her head in, 
withdrew it, as if undecided whether to venture 
in the presence of a stranger, and, after two or 
three such movements, darted in. Always in 
one minute the bird reappeared, flew at once out 
of the wood, at about the height of the nest, 
and did not come down till it reached, on one 
side, an old garden run to waste, or, on the 
other, far over the water, a cultivated field. At 
that tender age, the young flickers received their 
rations about twice in an hour. 

Although the golden-wings were silent, the 
wood around them was lively from morning till 



ROBINS SUBDUED. 37 

night. Blackbirds and cuckoos flew over ; ori- 
oles, both orchard and Baltimore, sang and for« 
aged among the trees ; song-sparrows and chip- 
pies trilled from the fence at one side : bluebird 
and thrasher searched the ground, and paid in 
music for the privilege; pewees and kingbirds 
made war upon insects ; and from afar came 
the notes of redwing and meadow-lark. Others 
there were, casual visitors, and of course it did 
not escape the squawks and squabbles of the 
English sparrow, — = 

"Irritant, iterant, maddening' bird.'^ 

The robins, who one sometimes wishes, with 
Lanier's owl, '^had more to think and less to 
say," were not so self-assertive as they usually 
are; in fact, they were quite subdued. They 
came and went freely, but they never questioned 
my actions, as they are sure to do where they 
lead society. Now and then one perched on the 
fence and regarded me, with flick of wing and 
tail that meant a good deal, but he expressed no 
opinion. With kingbirds on one side, pewees 
on the other, and the great crested fly-catcher 
a daily caller, this was eminently a fly-catcher 
grove, and the robin plainly felt that he was not 
responsible for its good order. Indeed, after 
fly-catcher households were set up, he had his 
hands full to maintain his right to be there 
at all. 



38 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 

Whatever went on, the woodpeckers took no 
part in it. Back and forth they passed, almost 
stealthily, caring not who ruled the grove so 
that their precious secret was not discovered. 
Neither of them stayed to watch the nest, nor 
did they come and go together. The birds in 
the neighborhood might be inquisitive, — there 
was no one to resent it; blackbirds scrambled 
over the oak, robins perched on the screening 
branch, and no one about the silent entrance 
disputed their right. 

In the first flush of dismay at finding them- 
selves watched, the golden-wings, as I said, re- 
doubled their cautiousness. They tried to keep 
the position of the nest secret by coming from 
the back, gliding around on the trunk, and 
stealing in at the door, or by alighting quietly 
high up in the body of the tree, and coming 
down backward, — that is, tail first. But by 
remaining absolutely without motion or sound 
while they were present, I gradually won their 
toleration, and had my reward. The birds 
ceased to regard me as an enemy, and, though 
they always looked at me, no longer tried to keep 
out of sight, or to hide the object of their visits. 
During the first day of watching I had the good 
fortune to see a second empty shell brought out 
of the nest, and dropped a little farther off than 
the first had been ; and I feel safe in assuming 



CURIOUS WAY OF FEEDING. 39 

that these two were the birthdays of the babes 
in the wood. 

Thirteen days were devoted to the study of the 
manners and customs of the parents before the 
hidden subjects of their solicitude gave any signs 
of life visible from below. Though visits were 
about half an hour apart, and flicker babies have 
very good appetites, they did not go hungry, 
for on every occasion they had a Ijearty meal in- 
stead of the single mouthful that many young 
birds receive. This fact was guessed at on the 
thirteenth day, when the concealed little ones 
came out of the darkness up to the door, and the 
parents' movements in feeding could be seen; 
but the whole curious process was plain two days 
later, when a young golden-wing appeared at 
the opening and met his supplies half-way. The 
food-bearer clung to the bark beside the en- 
trance, leaned over, turned his head on one side, 
and thrust his beak within the slightly opened 
beak of his offspring. In this position he gave 
eight or ten quick little jerks of his head, which 
doubtless represented so many mouthfuls; then, 
drawing back his head, he made a motion of the 
throat, as though swallowing, which was, pre- 
sumably, raising instead, for he leaned over 
again and repeated the operation in the waiting 
mouth. This performance was gone through 
with as many as three or four times in succession 



40 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 

before one flicker baby was satisfied. After the 
nestlings came up to the door, the parents went 
no more inside, as a rule, and housekeeping took 
care of itself. 

On the fifteenth day of his life, as said above, 
the eldest scion of the golden-wing family made 
bis appearance at the portal of his home. The 
sight and the sound of him came together, for he 
burst out at once with a cry. It was not very 
loud, but it meant something, and the practice 
of a day or two gave it all the strength that was 
desirable. In fact, it became clamorous to a 
degree that made further attempts at conceal- 
ment useless, and no one was quicker to recog- 
nize it than the parents. The baby cry was the 
utterance familiar from the grown-up birds as 
"wick-a! wick-a ! wick-a!" From this day, 
when one of the elders drew near the tree, it was 
met at the opening by an eager little face and a 
begging call ; but it was several days before the 
recluse showed interest in anything except the 
food supply. Meals were now nearly an hour 
apart, and the moment one was over the well-fed 
youngster in the tree fell back out of sight, prob- 
ably to sleep, after the fashion of babies the 
world over. But all this soon came to an end. 
The young flicker began to linger a few minutes 
after he had been fed, and to thrust his beak 
out in a tentative way, as if wondering what the 
big out-of-doors was like, any way. 



A SPARROW MOB. 41 

Matters were going on thus prosperously, 
when a party of English sparrows, newly 
fledged, came to haunt the wood in a small flock 
of eighteen or twenty; to meddle, in sparrow 
style, with everybody's business; and to pro- 
fane the sweet stillness of the place with harsh 
squawks. The mistress of the little home in the 
oak, who had conducted her domestic affairs so 
discreetly, one day found herself the centre of a 
mob ; for these birds early learn the power of 
combination. She came to her nest followed by 
the impertinent sparrows, who flew as close as 
possible, none of them more than a foot from 
her. They alighted as near as they could find 
perches, crowded nearer, stretched up, flew over, 
and tried in every way, with an air of the deep- 
est interest, to see what she could be doing in 
that hole. When she left, — which she did 
soon, for she was annoyed, — the crowd did not 
go with her; they were bound to explore the 
mystery of that opening. They flew past it; 
they hovered before it; they craned their necks 
to peer in; they perched on a bare twig that 
grew over it, as many as could get footing, and 
leaned far over to see within. The young flicker 
retired before his inquisitive visitors, and was 
seen no more till the mother came again ; and 
then she had to go in out of sight to find him. 

As the days went on, the babe in the wood 



42 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 

became more used to the sunlight and the bird- 
sounds about him. Evidently, he was of a 
meditative turn, for he did not scramble out, 
and rudely rush upon his fate ; he deliberated ; 
he studied, with the air of a philosopher; he 
weighed the attractions of a cool and breezy 
world against the comforts and delightful obscu- 
rity of home. Perha^3s, also, there entered into 
his calculations the annoyance, of a reporter 
meeting him on the threshold of life, tearing the 
veil away from his private affairs. What would 
one give to know the thoughts in that little 
bro^sTi head, on its first look at life I Whatever 
the reason, he plainly concluded not to take the 
risk that day, for he disappeared again behind a 
door that no reporter, however glib or plausible, 
could pass. Sometimes he vanished with a sud- 
denness that was not natural. Did his heart 
fail him, or, perchance, his footing give way? 
For whether he clung to the walls, or made step- 
ping-stones of his brothers and sisters (as do 
many of his betters, or at least his biggers), who 
can tell? Often beside this eldest-born, after 
the first day, appeared a second little head, spy- 
ing eagerly, if a little less bravely, on the world, 
and as days passed he frequently contested the 
position of vantage with his brother, but he was 
always second. 

Mother Nature is kind to woodpeckers. She 



WOODPECKERS AT DINNER. 43 

fits them out for life before they leave the 
seclusion of the nursery. There is no callow, 
immature period in the face of the world, no 
''green" age for the gibes or superior airs of 
elders. A woodpecker out of the nest is a 
woodpecker in the dress and with the bearing of 
his fathers, — dignified, serene, and grown up. 

As the sweet June days advanced, the young 
bird in the oak-tree grew bolder. He no longer 
darted in when a saucy sparrow came near, and 
when the parent arrived with food the cries be- 
came so loud that all the world could know that 
here were young woodpeckers at dinner. Now, 
too, he began to spend much time in dressing 
his plumage, in preparation for the grand de- 
but. Usually, when a young bird begins to 
dally with the temptation to fly, so rapid is 
growth among birds, he may be expected out in 
a few hours. In this deliberate family it is dif- 
ferent ; indeed, taking flight must be a greater 
step for a woodpecker than for a bird from an 
open nest. 

Three days the youngster had been debating 
whether it were ''to be or not to be," and more 
and more he lingered in the doorway, sitting 
far enough out to show his black necklace. His 
was no longer the wondering gaze of infancy, to 
which all things are equally strange ; it was a 
discriminating look, — the head turned quickly, 



44 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 

and passing objects drew his attention. On the 
third day, too, he uttered his first genuine wood- 
pecker cry of "pe-auk! " He had not the least 
embarrassment before me. I think he regarded 
me as a part of the landscape, — the eccentric 
development of a tree trunk, perhaps ; for while 
he never looked at me nor put the smallest re- 
straint upon his infant passions, let another per- 
son come into the wood, and he was at once 
silent and on his guard. All this time he had 
become more and more fascinated with the view 
without his door ; one could fairly see the love of 
the world grow upon him. He picked at the 
bark about him; he began to get ideas about 
ants, and ran out a long tongue and helped him- 
self to many a tidbit. 

When the young golden -wing had passed four 
days in this manner, he grew impatient. The 
hour -long intervals between meals were not 
to his mind, and he began to express himself 
fluently. He leaned far out, and delivered the 
adult cry with great vigor and new pathos; he 
then bowed violently many times, moved his 
mouth as if eating, and struggled farther and 
still farther out, until it seemed that he could not 
keep within another minute. When one of the 
parents came he forgot his grown-up manner, 
and returned to the baby cry, loud and urgent, 
as if he were starved. 



CONSIBEBING HIS DEBUT, 45 

He was fed, and again left ; and now he scram- 
bled up with his feet on the edge. He was si- 
lent; he was considering an important move, a 
plunge into the world. He wanted to come, — 
he longed to fly. Outside were sunshine, sweet 
air, trees, food, — inside only darkness. The 
smallest coaxing would bring him out ; but coax- 
ing he was not to have. He must decide for 
himself; the impulse must be from within. 

The next morning opened with a severe north- 
east gale. 

*' It rained, and the wind was never weary." 

The birds felt the depressing influence of the 
day. The robins perched on the fence, wings 
hanging, each feather like a bare stick, and not 
a sound escaping the throat ; and when robins 
are discouraged, it is dismal weather indeed. 
The bluebirds came about, draggled almost be- 
yond recognition. Even the swallows sailed 
over silently, their merry chatter hushed. 

But life must go on, whatever the weather; 
and fearing the young woodpecker might select 
this day to make his entry into the big world, 
his faithful watcher donned rainy-day costume, 
and went out to assist in the operation. The 
storm did not beat upon his side of the tree, and 
the youngster still hung out of his hole in the 
trunk, calling and crying, apparently without 



46 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 

the least intention of exposing his brand-new 
feathers to the rain. 

Very early the following morning, before the 
human world was astir, loud golden-wing cries, 
and calls, and ''laughs" were heard about the 
wood. This abandonment of restraint proclaimed 
that something had happened; and so, indeed, 
I discovered, for in hastening to my post I found 
an ominous silence about the oak-tree. The 
young wise-head, whose struggles and tempta- 
tions I had watched so closely, had chosen to go 
in the magical morning hours, when the world 
belongs entirely to birds and beasts. The home 
in the wood looked deserted. 

I sat down in silence and waited, for I knew 
the young flicker could not long be still. Sure 
enough, I soon heard his cry, but how far off ! 
I followed it to an oak-tree on the farther edge 
of the grove. I searched the tree, and there I 
saw him, quiet now as I approached, and plainly 
full of joy in his freedom and his wings. 

I returned to my place, hoping that all had 
not gone. There must be more than one, for two 
had been up to the door, I was sure. I waited. 
Some hours later, the parents came to their 
home in the wood, one after the other. Each 
one alighted beside the door, glanced in, in a 
casual way, but did not put the head in, and 
then flew to a neighboring tree, uttering what 



A MYSTERY UNSOLVED. 47 

sounded marvelously like a chuckling laugh, and 
in a moment left the grove. Did, then, the 
daughters of the house meekly fly, without pre- 
liminary study of the world from the door? 
Were there, perchance, no daughters ? Indeed, 
had more than one infant reached maturity? 
All these questions I asked myself, but not one 
shall I ever be able to answer. 

I waited several hours. Many birds sang and 
called among the trees, but no sound came from 
the oak-tree household, and to me the wood was 
deserted. 



IV. 

HOME LIFE OF THE REDSTART. 

The redstart himself told me where his trea- 
sures were ''hid in a leafy hollow." Not that he 
intended to be so confiding ; on the contrary he 
was somewhat disconcerted when he saw what 
he had done, and tried his best to undo it by ap- 
pearing not to have the smallest interest in that 
particular tree. I happened that morning to be 
wandering slowly along the edge of a tree-lined 
ravine, looking for the nest of a greatly disturbed 
pair of cat-birds. As I drew near an old moss- 
covered apple-tree, I heard a low though ener- 
getic "phit ! phit!" and a chipping sparrow 
emerged from the tree with much haste, quickly 
followed by a redstart, with the unmistakable 
air" of proprietor. The sight of me made a di- 
version. The pursued dropped into the grass, 
while the pursuer turned his attention to the 
bigger game, presented so unexpectedly that he 
had not time to bethink himself of his usual cus- 
tom of not showing his gorgeous black and gold 
about home. He scolded me well for an instant, 
till his wits returned, when he disappeared like 



HOSTILE DEMONSTRATIONS. 49 

a flash. It was too late to deceive me, however, 
and I marked that tree as I passed, intent at the 
moment upon cat-birds. 

On returning, I stopped on the bank to look 
the tree over at my leisure, and there I soon 
saw, two feet from the top of the tallest upright 
branch and tightly clinging to it, a small cradle, 
gently rocking in the warm breeze. No one was 
at home, and I sat down to wait. This move- 
ment did not meet the approval of a certain 
small tenant of a neighboring tree, for I was 
saluted by a sharp, low, incessant cry; now it 
came from the right side, now from the left. I 
turned quickly, caught a glimpse of yellow, the 
flit of a wing, and then — nothing. In a mo- 
ment the sound began again, and thus it tanta- 
lized me till my neck became tired, and I laid 
my head back among the ferns, to wait till the 
small fire-brand calmed down a little. To my 
surprise and delight, the bird seemed to regard 
this as a surrender, for down a broad branch 
that sloped toward me came a most animated 
bundle of feathers, wings and tail wide spread, 
making hostile demonstrations, and scolding as 
fiercely as such an atom could. It had all the 
airs of ownership, and its colors were olive and 
yellow ; had, then, the roguish redstart deceived 
me, after all? Thus pondering, I suddenly re- 
membered that I had never seen his spouse, and 



60 HOME LIFE OF THE REDSTART. 

that monsieur and madame do not dress alike in 
the bird world any more than in the human. I 
marked the points ; I consulted the books ; there 
could be no doubt this was the little dame her- 
self, and her mate had been too clever to come 
to her aid. 

The structure on the apple bough was the red- 
start homestead. Watch it every day I must, 
yet not to disturb the fiery little owners it was 
necessary to move further from them. I sought 
and found a delightful nook, the other side of 
the ravine. On its steep sides the native forest 
still flourished, and seated at the foot of a tall 
maple, tented in by a heavy low growth at my 
back, I could look across the narrow chasm 
through a gap in the trees, and see the redstart 
nest in the pasture beyond. The restless pair 
did not notice me behind my veil of greenery, 
and my glass was of the best; so I secured a 
good view of the small mansion and the life that 
went on ^about it, without in the least annoying 
the builders thereof. I found the head of the 
family very interesting in his role of husband 
and father. 

Perhaps not every one knows a redstart, and 
his name is misleading, for he has not a red 
feather on his body. He is a bird of very few 
inches, clothed in brilliant array of orange and 
black and white, which always suggests the Bal- 



THE ROBIN TAKES A HINT. 51 

timore oriole. His mate is more soberly clad in 
olive-brown and golden -yellow; neither of them 
is still for an instant, diving and flitting about 
on a tree like specks of animated sunlight. 

At my pleasant post of observation I spent 
hours of every day, stealing in soon after break- 
fast, quietly, so as not to arouse the suspicions of 
a robin who lived in the neighborhood; for un- 
fortunate is the student whose ways are not ac- 
ceptable to one of this noisy family. I found, 
however, when my patience gave out, that the 
robin will take a hint. On throwing a pebble 
through the branches near him, as a suggestion 
that his attentions were not welcome, he flew to 
a tree a little farther off, and resumed his offen- 
sive remarks; another pebble convinced him 
that the distance might be profitably increased, 
and thus I drove him away ; at about the fourth 
pebble he took a final departure. 

Here, then, I saw the small housekeeping go 
on. I always found the little dame in posses- 
sion, and generally the lord and master gleaning 
food in redstart fashion; flitting around a 
branch, darting behind a leaf, over and under a 
twig, tail spread to keep his balance during these 
jerky movements, his bright oriole colors flash- 
ing as he dashed through a patch of sunlight, — 
a beautiful object, but a perfectly silent one. 
When his happiness demanded expression he 



52 HOME LIFE OF THE EEL START. 

flew to a maple-tree, and poured out his soul in 
the quaint though not very musical ditty of his 
race. Sometimes he stood still on a branch, 
like a bird who has something to say ; but more 
often he rushed around after insects on this tree, 
and threw in the notes between the firm snaps of 
his beak. 

Promptly every half hour the little sprite took 
his way to that precious apple branch, and 
dropped, light as a snow-flake, on a certain twig 
on the nearest side of his homestead. A flash 
from the nest announced the departure of ma- 
dame, and he popped into her place. Not to set- 
tle down to business, as she did, — far from it ! 
It is a wonder to me how even a female redstart 
can sit still. On taking his place, he first ex- 
amined the treasures it held, leaning over the 
edge with a solicitude charming to see; and 
when he did at last cover them from sight, his 
black velvet cap still bobbed up and down, this 
way and that, as though he were taking advan- 
tage of his enforced quiet to plume himself. 
Precisely three minutes he allowed his modest 
spouse for her repast. At the expiration of that 
time he deserted, darted away, and began to call 
from the next tree, when she instantly returned. 
Sometimes she was at hand, and alighted on a 
twig on the farther side of the nest, when he 
bounded off and out of sight. She carefully in- 



NEWS IN THE FAMILY. 63 

spected the nest to see that all was right, then 
slipped in, settled herself with a gentle flutter 
of wings, and I knew she was safe for another 
half hour. It was the closest watching I ever 
tried, so quick were the motions, so silent the 
going and coming. 

Now and then the redstart chose to stay lon- 
ger at home. The usual time having expired, 
the little sitter appeared, but if her mate did 
not vacate, she availed herself of the additional 
liberty in flitting about the tree, adding a dessert 
to her dinner. On one occasion he let her re- 
turn twice before he left, occupying her place 
for eight minutes, — an enormous length of time 
for a redstart. More often he grew impatient 
in less than three minutes, and once he forgot 
himself so far as to call while in the nest. 

During the sitting there came two days of 
steady, pouring rain and high wind. I feared 
the hopes of that family, as well as others all 
about, would perish, but the brave little mother 
bore the depressing season well. The eggs were 
never left uncovered, nor did that gay rover, 
her spouse, forget to take her place as usual. 

On the morning of my fourth day of watching, 
I saw there was news; sitting was over, and 
though they could not be seen, it was easy to 
picture the featherless, wide-mouthed objects, 
evidently so lovely to the young parents. Close 



54 HOME LIFE OF THE REDSTART. 

work as it had been to observe the movements of 
the pair, it was much harder after that, they be- 
came at once so wary. I am sure they never 
regarded me in any way as a spy, for I was not 
in their highway; moreover, they would cer- 
tainly have expressed their mind if they had. 
Yet they came and went entirely from the other 
side, and so exactly opposite the nest that often 
I could not see even the flit of a wing. Not 
until one stood on the threshold could I see it, 
and the most untiring vigilance was necessary. 
Even before this madame was cautious in her 
going and coming; she first dropped about two 
feet to a branch, paused a moment, then went to 
a second one, still lower, thus left the tree near 
the ground, and in returning she began at the 
lowest branch and retraced her steps to the nest. 

That day the father of the new family seemed 
very joyous, and treated us to a great deal of 
singing, though it was not a singing-day, being 
very cold, with a steady rain. The pretty little 
mother took thoughtful care of her brood. For 
a half hour or more she worked very busily, her 
mate helping, and fed them well; then she de- 
liberately sat down upon those youngsters, ex- 
actly as though they were still eggs. There she 
stayed as long as she thought best, and then she 
went to her work again. 

The morning they were six days old I had the 



A FUSSY MAMMA. 55 

pleasure of seeing a movement in the nest. 
When the sun reached a certain height above 
the tree, it shone into that small mansion in 
such a way as to reveal its contents ; thus I could 
see the redstart babies moving restlessly, evi- 
dently in haste already to come out into the 
world. This day the father took rather more 
than half the charge of the provision supply, and 
with considerable regularity. During four hours 
that the nest was closely watched, its tenants 
were fed at about five-minute intervals for half 
an hour ; and then mamma promptly smothered 
their ambition, as above mentioned, for perhaps 
a quarter of an hour, when, if they did not take 
naps like ''good little birdies," they at least 
were forced to keep still. 

This young matron reminded me of some mo- 
thers of a larger growth, she was so fussy, so 
careful that her charges did not go too fast for 
their strength, while her spouse made it his 
business to see that she did not keep them tender 
by over-coddling. He allowed her to brood 
them for fifteen minutes; longer than that he 
would not tolerate, but came like a fiery meteor 
to see that she moved. She plainly understood 
his intention, for the instant he appeared she 
darted off, although he did not touch the nest. 
All day the weight of responsibility kept this 
rover at home ; he might generally be seen on 



56 HOME LIFE OF THE REDSTART. 

the lower brandies of liis tree, darting about in 
perfect silence ; but once or twice I saw him ac- 
tually loitering, a pleasant pastime of wliich I 
never suspected a redstart. 

Six days appears to be tlie limit of time a 
redstart baby can submit to a cradle. (I know 
tbis does not agree with the books, so I explain 
that it was six days from the time constant sit- 
ting ceased. If the young were out of the shell 
before that, they were covered all the time, and 
not fed.) The day that stirring urchin was six 
days old he mounted the edge of the nest and 
tried his wings. When mamma came, he asked 
for food in the usual bird-baby way, gentle flut- 
ters of the wings ; but this haste was certainly 
not pleasing to the little dame, and upon her 
departure I noticed that he had returned to the 
nursery. 

However, his ambition was roused, — the am- 
bition of a redstart to be moving, — and at seven 
o'clock the next morning, his seventh day, he 
came out with his mind made up to stay. First 
a shaky little yellowish head appeared above the 
nest ; then the owner thereof clambered out upon 
a twig, three inches higher. One minute he 
rested, to glance around the new world, and 
quickly increased the distance to six inches, 
where he stood fidgeting, arranging his feathers, 
and evidently preparing for a tremendous flight, 



REDSTART TRAINING, 57 

when his anxious parent returned. Plainly, he 
would have been wiser to wait another day, for 
all the time it was difficult for him to keep his 
place ; every few seconds he made wild struggles, 
^beating the air with his wings, and at last, after 
enjoying that elevated position in life about ten 
minutes, he lost his hold and fell. I held my 
breath, for a fall to the ground meant a dead 
nestling ; but he clutched at a twig two or three 
feet lower, and succeeded in retaining this more 
humble station. Madame came and fed and 
comforted him, and it was soon evident that he 
had learned a lesson, for he moderated his trans- 
ports ; though his head was as restless as ever, 
his feet were more steady ; he did not fall 
again, and he soon scrambled freely all over the 
tree. 

Now I was interested to see how the redstart 
babies were brought up, and for more than four 
hours I kept my eyes on that youngster. It is 
no small task, let me say, to keep watch of an 
atom an inch or two long, to whom any leaf is 
am^e screen, to note every movement lest he 
slip out of sight, and to make memorandum of 
each morsel of food he gets. There were, also, 
of course, the most seductive sounds about me ; 
never so many birds came near. Cat-birds 
whispered softly behind my back ; a vireo cried 
plaintively over my head; the towhee bunting 



58 HOME LIFE OF THE BEDSTABT. 

boldly perched on a low bush, and saluted me 
with his peculiar cry; flickers uttered their 
quaint ''wick-up" on my right, and a veery 
sighed softly "we-o" on my left. Unflinch- 
ingly, however, I kept my face toward that 
apple-tree, and my eyes on that restless young 
hopeful, while I noted the conduct of the par- 
ents toward him. 

This is what I learned : first, that those left in 
the nest were to be kept back, and not allowed 
out of the nursery till this one was able to care 
for himself, or at least to help. The nest, hold- 
ing probably one or two little ones, was visited, 
the first hour almost exactly once in twenty min- 
utes, by madame exclusively, and the three suc- 
ceeding hours at longer intervals, by her spouse. 
Scarcely a move was made there ; plainly there 
were no more " come-outers " that day. The 
efforts of the mother were concentrated on num- 
ber one, apparently, to bring him forward as 
fast as possible. He was, for an hour, fed 
every five or six minutes, the next hour only 
three times, and this system was kept up *with 
perfect regularity all day. 

Meanwhile, the behavior of the happy father 
was peculiar and somewhat puzzling, consider- 
ing how solicitous he had hitherto appeared. 
For some time his gay coat was not to be seen, 
even on his favorite lower branches ; and when 



THE EMPTY NEST. 69 

he did come around, his mate flew at him, 
whether to praise or to punish could only be 
guessed, for he at once disappeared before her. 
After two or three episodes of this sort he re- 
mained about the tree, and occasionally contrib- 
uted a mite to the family sustenance. 

The next morning, at half past seven, I re- 
sumed my seat as usual, and very soon saw I 
was too late. Both parents were busily flitting 
about the tree, but never once went near the 
*old home ; moreover, when the sun reached the 
magical point where he revealed the inside of 
the nest, lo, it was empty ! 

Either there had been but one other bairn, 
and he had got out before I did, — things hap- 
pen so rapidly in the redstart family, — or there 
had been g- tragedy, I could not discover which. 
Neither could I find a young bird on that tree, 
though I was sure, by the conduct of the par- 
ents, that at least one remained. 

Now that no one's feelings could be hurt by 
the operation, I had a limb cut off the apple- 
tree, and the little home I had watched with so 
great interest brought down to me. Nothing- 
could be daintier or more secure than that snug 
little structure. Placed on an upright branch, 
just below the point where five branchlets, a foot 
or more long, sprang out to shelter, and closely 
surrounded by seven twigs, of few inches but 



60 HOME LIFE OF THE BEDSTART, 

many leaves, it was a marvel I had been able to 
see it at all. The redstarts might be lively and 
restless, but they were good workers. So firmly 
was that nest fastened to its branch, resting on 
one twig and embraced by two others, like arms, 
that to remove it would destroy it. Strips of 
something like grapevine bark, with a few grass- 
blades and a material that looked like hornets' 
or other insects' nest, formed the outside, while 
long horsehairs made the soft lining. Though 
strong and firm, it was on the sides so thiuy 
that, as mentioned above, the movements of the 
young could be seen through it. 

This pretty cup, around which so many hopes 
had centred, was of a size for a fairy's home- 
stead, — hardly two inches inside diameter, and 
less than two inches deep. I carried it off as a 
memento of a delightful June among the hills of 
the old Bay State. 



WHEN NESTING IS OYER. 

" When tlie birds fly past 
And the chimes ring fast 
And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast," 

comes the most attractive time of year to the 
bird-lover, — the baby-days, when the labors 
and anxieties of the nest being over, proud 
and happy parents bring forward their tender 
younglings all unused to the ways of the 
world, and carry on their training before our 
eyes. 

First to come upon the scene of the summer's 
studies was the brown thrush family. For some 
time the head of the household had made the 
grove a regular resting place in his daily round. 
He always entered in silence, alighted on the 
lowest limb of a tree, and hopped lightly, step 
by step, to the top, where he sang softly a few 
delightful and tantalizing strains. In a mo- 
ment he dropped to the ground, uttering a liquid 
note or two as he went, and threw into his work 
of digging among the dead leaves the same sup- 
pressed vehemence he had put into his song. 



I 



62 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

Not unf requently lie came into collision with a 
sparrow mob that claimed to own that piece of 
wood, and his way of dealing with them was an 
ever fresh satisfaction. He stood quiet, though 
the crouching attitude and the significant 
twitches of his expressive tail indicated very 
clearly to one who knew him that he was far 
from calm inside ; that he was merely biding his 
time. His tranquil manner misled the vulgar 
foe ; that they mistook it for cowardice was ob- 
vious. Nearer, and still nearer, they drew, sur- 
rounded him, and seemed about to fall upon him 
in a body, when he suddenly wheeled, and like 
a flash of light dashed right and left almost 
simultaneously, as if he had become two birds, 
and the impertinent enemy fairly vanished be- 
fore him. 

Like many another bird, however, the thrasher, 
although not afraid of sparrows, disliked a con- 
tinual row. He had gradually ceased to come 
into the neighborhood, and I feared I should 
neither see nor (what was worse) hear him again. 
But one morning he presented himself with two 
youngsters, so brimful of joy that he quite for- 
got his previous caution and reserve. They 
perched in plain sight on the fence, and while 
the little ones clumsily struggled to maintain 
their footing, the father turned his head this 
side and that, jerked his tail, and uttered a low 



STRAWBERRIES FOR DESSERT. 63 

cry as much as to say, ''Can anybody beat that 
pair now?" 

In a moment he fell to the serious work of 
filling their hungry mouths. Being very wide 
awake, the young birds readily saw where sup- 
plies came from, and then they accompanied 
their parent to the ground, following every step, 
as he dug almost without ceasing. After a 
tolerably solid repast of large white grubs, he 
slipped away from the dear coaxers, disappeared 
on the other side of the fence, and before they I 

recovered from their bewilderment at finding a 



themselves deserted, returned bearing in his 
beak a strawberry. The young thrush received 
the dainty eagerly, but finding it too big to swal- 
low, beat it on the fence as if it were a worm. 
Of course it parted, and a piece fell to the 
ground, which the waiting parent went after, 
and administered as a second mouthful. 

For a long time the little ones were fed on 
the fence, and the father was so happy that 
every few minutes he was forced to retire be- 
hind a neighboring tree and "make gladness 
musical upon the other side." 

After that morning the thrasher came daily 
to the place, and a dessert of strawberries inva- 
riably followed the more substantial meal, but 
never again did he bring more than one of his 
family with him. 



r 



64 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

One morning the brown thrush baby, who 
had been rapidly growing self-reliant, came 
alone for the first time. It was interesting to 
watch him, running along the tops of the pick- 
ets ; searching in the hot grass till out of breath 
for something to eat; looking around in a sur- 
prised way, as if wondering why the food did not 
come; making a dash, with childlike innocence, 
after a strawberry he saw in the mouth of a 
robin, who in amazement leaped a foot in the 
air ; and at last flying to a tree to call and listen 
for his sire. That wise personage, meanwhile, 
had stolen silently into the grove, all dripping 
from his bath in the bay, and while indulging 
in a most elaborate dressing and pluming, had 
kept one eye on the infant in the grass be- 
low, apparently to see how he got on by himself. 
When at last the little one stood panting and 
discouraged, he called, a single ''chirp." The 
relieved youngster recognized it and answered, 
and at once flew over to join him. 

This restless young thrasher, excepting that 
he was perhaps somewhat lighter in color and a 
little less glossy of coat, looked at that moment 
as old as he ever would. Nothing but his in- 
genuous ways, and his soft baby-cry "chr-er-er" 
revealed his tender age. His curiosity when he 
found himself in an unfamiliar place or on a 
strange tree was amusing. He looked up and 



THE SWALLOW BABIES. 66 

down, stretching his neck in his desire to see 
everything; he critically examined the tuft of 
leaves near him; he peered over and under a 
neighboring branch, and then gazed gravely 
around on the prospect before him. He flew 
with ease, and alighted with the grace of his 
family, on the bare trunk of a tree, the straight 
side of a picket, or any other unlikely place for 
a bird to be found. For a week he came and 
went and was watched and studied, but one 
day the strawberries were gathered in the old 
garden, and the beautiful brown thrush baby 
appeared no more. 

The world was not deserted of bird voices, 
however. 

*' Swift bright wings flitted in and out 
And happy chirpings were all about.' ' 

For days the wood had resounded with the 
shrill little cries of swallow babies, who alighted 
on the low trees on the border while their busy 
parents skimmed over the bay, or the marshy 
shore, and every few minutes brought food to 
their clamorous offspring. I had a remarkably 
good opportunity to make the acquaintance of this 
youngster — the white-bellied swallow. There 
were dozens of them, and the half grown trees 
were their chosen perches. The droll little fel- 
lows, with white fluffy breasts, no feet to speak 
of, and 



66 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

" Built so narrow 
Like the head of an arrow 
To cut the air," 

did not even notice me in my nook under the 
pines. 

They could fly very well, and now and then 
one followed the parent far out, calling sharply 
his baby "cheep " and trying to get close to her 
in the air. Often she turned, met and fed him 
on the wing, and then sailed on, while the young- 
ster lagged a little, unable to give his mind to 
feeding and flying at the same time. Some- 
times the mother avoided a too persistent pleader 
by suddenly rising above him. When a little 
one was at rest, she usually paused before him on 
wing only long enough to poke a mouthful into 
his wide open beak ; occasionally — but not often 
— she alighted beside him for a few moments. 

Leading out into the water for the use of 
boatmen, was a narrow foot pier, provided on 
one side with a hand rail. This rail was a con- 
venient rendezvous for all the babies belonging 
to the swallow flock, a sort of a community nur- 
sery. On this they rested from the fatigue of 
flying; here they were fed, and sometimes gently 
pushed off the perch afterward, as a mild hint 
to use their wings. 

I wanted to find out whether parents and 
young knew each other from all the rest. Of 



LOOKING FOB MAMMA. 67 

course in this crowd it was not possible to tell, 
but I found a better chance in another favorite 
spot, an old post that rose out of the water, 
eight or ten feet from the shore, and so small 
that it was only comfortable for one, although 
two could stand on it. The post seldom lacked 
its occupant, a baby swallow with head up, 
looking eagerly into the flock above him. This 
isolated youngling I made my special study. 
Sometimes on the approach of a grown up bird, 
he lifted his wings and opened his mouth, peti- \ 

tioning for, and plainly expecting food. At if 

other times he paid not the least attention to a 
swallow passing over him, but sat composed and 
silent, though watchful, apparently for the right 
one to come in sight. He was often, though 
not invariably, fed upon his appeal; but that 
proves nothing, for it would require the services 
of a dozen parents to respond to every request 
of a young bird. It not unfrequently happened, 
too, that one of the flock always flying about 
over the water came very near the little one on 
the post as if to offer him a morsel, but sud- 
denly, when almost upon him, wheeled and left, 
— obviously mistaken. .On no such occasion 
did that knowing youngster show any expecta- 
tion of attention. Again there would sometimes 
join him on the post, a second young swallow, 
and, although crowded, they were quite con- 



68 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

tented together. Then I noticed as the elders 
swept over, that sometimes one baby begged, 
sometimes the other; never both at once. This 
seemed to indicate that the little one knows its 
parents, for no one familiar with the craving 
hunger and the constant opening of the baby 
beak to its natural purveyors, will doubt that 
when a young bird failed to ask, it was because 
the elder was not its parent. 

An early lesson in many bird lives is that of 
following, or flying in a flock, for at first the 
babies of a brood scatter wildly, and seem not 
to have the smallest notion of keeping together. 
The small swallows in the trees near me were 
carefully trained in this. Often while one stood 
chirping vehemently, clearly thinking himself 
half starved, a grown-up bird flew close past 
him, calling in very sweet tones, and stopped in 
plain sight, ten or fifteen feet away. Of course 
the youngster followed at once. But just as he 
reached the side of the parent, that thoughtful 
tutor took another short flight, calling and coax- 
ing as before. This little performance was re- 
peated three or four times before the pupil re- 
ceived the tidbits he so urgently desired. 

Other sweet baby -talk in the trees came from 
the wood-pewee. The pew^ee I had noted from 
the building of her beautiful lichen-covered cra- 
dle in the crotch of a wild-cherry tree. The 



DISCOURAGING THE BLACKBIRDS. 69 

branch, dead and leafless, afforded no screen for 
the brave little mother. Look when one might, 
in the hottest sunshine or the heaviest rain, there 
sat the bird quite up out of the nest, head erect 
and eyes eagerly watching for intruders. The 
pewee, for all his tender and melancholy utter- 
ances, has a fiery spirit. He hesitates not to 
clinch with a brother pewee, interpolates his 
sweetest call into the hot chases, and even when 
resting between encounters, spreads his tail, flut- 
ters his wings, and erects his crest in a most 
warlike manner. The little dame was not a 
whit less vigilant than her spouse. Let but a 
blackbird pass over and she was off in a twink- 
ling, pursuing him, pouncing down upon him 
savagely, and all the time uttering her plaintive 
"pe-o-wee! " till her mate joined her, and made 
it so uncomfortable for the big foe that he de- 
parted, protesting to be sure in vigorous black- 
birdese, but taking good care to go. So persis- 
tent were the pewees in these efforts, that in a 
few days they convinced a pair of blackbirds 
(purple crow blackbirds) that this part of the 
grove was no longer a thoroughfare, and whereas 
they had been quite frequent visitors, they were 
now rarely seen. 

The saucy robin who chose to insist upon his 
right to alight on their tree, as he had always 
done, was harder to convince ; in fact, he never 



70 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

was driven away. Every day, and many times 
a day, arose the doleful cry of distress. I al- 
ways looked over from my seat on the other side 
of the little open spot in the wood, and invari- 
ably saw a robin on the lower part of the wild- 
cherry where the trunk divided, flirting his tail, 
jerking his wings, and looking very wicked 
indeed. Down upon him came one, sometimes 
two pewees. He simply ran up the sloping 
branch toward their nest, hopped to another 
limb, every step bringing him nearer, the pe- 
wees darting frantically at him — and at last 
took flight from the other side ; but not until he 
was quite ready. This drama was enacted with 
clock-like regularity, neither party seeming to 
tire of its repetition, till the happy day when 
the pewee baby could fly, and appeared across 
the grove, near me. 

One morning I noticed the anxious parents 
very busy on a small oak-tree, but a clump of 
leaves made a perfect hiding place for the in- 
fant, and I could not see it at first. There may 
have been more, although I saw but one and 
heard but one baby cry, a prolonged but very 
low sound of pewee quality. While their charge 
lingered so near me, I was treated to another 
sensation by one of the pair, — a pewee song. 
The performer alighted almost directly over my 
head, and began at once to sing in a very sweet 



THE PEWEE SONG. 71 

voice, but so low it could not be heard a dozen 
feet away. There was little variation in the 
tones, but it was rapidly delivered, with longer 
and shorter intervals and varying inflections, a 
genuine whisper-song such as most birds that 
I have studied delight in. It did not please 
madam, his mate; she listened, looked, and 
then rushed at the singer, and I regret to say, 
they fell into a '^ scrimmage " in the grass, quite 
after the vulgar manner of the sparrow. 

They soon returned to their duty of feeding 
the baby behind the oak leaf screen. Both 
came very nearly at the same time; each one 
on arriving, administered a significant ''poke" 
behind the leaf, then indulged in several eccen- 
tric movements in their jerky style, dashed after 
a fly, stood a full minute staring at me, and at 
last flew. This programme was scarcely varied. 
Inoffensive as I was, however, the birds plainly 
did not relish my spying upon them, and when 
I returned from luncheon, they had removed 
their infant. For a day or two, I heard on the 
farther side of the grove the sweet, mournful 
"pe-o-wee" with which this bird proclaims the 
passage of another insect to its fate, and then it 
was gone, and I saw and heard them no more. 

One morning I rose at dawn and seated my- 
self behind my blind to spy upon the doings of 
the early risers. On this particular morning I 



72 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

first heard the tender notes of "the darling of 
children and bards " — the bluebird baby. The 
cry was almost constant; it was urgent and 
clamorous beyond anything I ever heard from 
''April's bird." I even doubted the author till 
I saw him. The thin and worn looking mother 
who had him in charge worked without ceasing, 
while the open-mouthed infant lifted up his 
voice and wept in a way so petulant and persis- 
tent as to completely disguise its sweet bluebird 
quality. Now this charming youngster, bearing 
heaven's color on his wings, with speckled bib 
and shoulder-cape, and honest, innocent eyes, 
is a special favorite with me; I never before 
saw a cry-baby in the family, and I did not lose 
sight of him. Three or four days passed in 
which the pair frequently came about, but with- 
out the father or any other young ones. Had 
there been an accident and were these the sur- 
vivors? Was the troublesome brawler a spoiled 
"only child"? All quCvStions were settled by 
the appearance somewhat later of three other 
young bluebirds who were not cry-babies. The 
father had evidently shaken off the trammels of 
domestic life, and "gone for his holiday" into 
the grove, where his encounters with the pewees 
kept up a little excitement for him. 

When the pitiful looking little dame had suc- 
ceeded in shaking off her ne'er-do-well, the four 



A BLUEBIRD BABY. 73 

little ones came every day on the lawn together. 
Sometimes the mother came near to see how they 
prospered, but oftener they were alone. They 
cried no more ; they ran about in the grass, and 
if one happened upon a fat morsel, the three 
others crowded around him and asked in pretty 
baby fashion for a share. Often they went to 
the fence, or the lower bar of the grape trellis, 
and there stood pertly erect, with head leaning 
a little forward, as though pondering some of the 
serious problems of bluebird life, but in fact con- 
cerning themselves only with the movements in 
the grass, as now and then a sudden plunge 
proved. Sometimes one of the group appeared 
alone on the ground, when no person was about 
(except behind the blinds), and then he talked 
with himself for company, a very charming mon- 
ologue in the inimitable bluebird tone, with 
modifications suggesting that a new and wonder- 
ful song was possible to him. He was evidently 
too full of joy to keep still. 

The English sparrow, who had usurped the 
martin house in the yard, warned him off ; the 
tiny golden warbler, who flitted about the shrub- 
bery all day, threatened to annihilate him, but 
with infantile innocence he refused to under- 
stand hostility; he stared at his assailant, and 
he held his ground. The little flock of four was 
captivating to see, and though the mother looked 



74 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 

ragged and careless in dress, one could but 
honor the little creature who had made the world 
so delightful a gift as four beautiful new blue- 
birds, in whose calm eyes 

" SHnes the peace of all being* without cloud." 

Other young birds were plentiful in those 
warm July days. From morning till night the 
chipping sparrow baby, with fine streaked 
breast, uttered his shrill cricket-like trill. No 
doubt he had already found out that he would 
get nothing in this world without asking, so, in 
order that nothing escape him, his demand was 
constant. The first broods of English sparrows 
had long before united in a mob, and established 
themselves in the grove, and the nests were a 
second time full of gaping infants calling ever 
for more. The energies of even this unattrac- 
tive bird were so severely taxed that he spared 
us his comments on things in general, and our 
affairs in particular. In the wood, young high- 
holes thrust their heads out of the door and 
called; blackbird and martin babies flew over 
with their parents, talking eagerly all the way ; 
barn swallow nestlings crowded up to the win- 
dow-sill to look out and be fed by passing mo- 
thers; and cautious young kingbirds, in black 
caps, dressed their feathers on the edge of the 
nest. 



BABY DAYS OVER. 76 

But days hurried on ; before long, young birds 
were as big as their fathers and had joined the 
ranks of the grown-ups. There were no more 
babies left on tree or lawn, and holiday time 
was over. 



VI. 



IN SEAECH OF THE BLUEJAY. 



"The grass grows up to the front door, and 
the forest comes down to the back; it 's the end 
of the road, and the woods are full of bluejays." 

Such was the siren song that lured me to a 
certain nook on the side of the highest mountain 
in Massachusetts one June. The country was 
gloriously green and fresh and young, as if it 
had just been created. From my window I 
looked down the valley beginning between Grey- 
lock and flagged Mountain, and winding around 
other and (to me) nameless hills till lost in the 
distance, apparently cut square off by what looked 
like an unbroken chain from east to west. The 
heavy forests which covered the hills ended in 
steep grass-covered slopes, with dashing and 
hurrying mountain brooks between, and, save 
the road, scarcely a trace of man was seen. 

The birds were already there. The robin 
came on to the rail fence, and with rain pouring 
off his sleek coat, bade us "Be cheery! be 
cheery ! " the bluebird sat silent and motionless 
on a fence post; the "veery's clarion " rang out 



MYSTERIES ON FOOT. 11 

all the evening from the valley below; many- 
little birds sang and called; and 

" The gossip of swallows filled all the sky." 

But the blue jays? 

The blue jays, too, were there. One saucily 
flirted his tail at me from the top of a tree ; an- 
other sly rogue flaunted his blue robes over a 
wall and disappeared the other side; a third 
shrieked in my face and slipped away behind a 
tree; but one and all were far too wise to re- 
veal their domestic secrets. I knew mysteries 
were on foot among them, as we know little folk 
are in mischief by their unnatural stillness, but 
I knew also that not until every jay baby was 
out of the nest, and there was nothing to hide, 
should I see that cunning bird in his usual 
noisy, careless role. 

The peculiarity of that particular corner of na- 
ture's handiwork was that any way you went you 
had to climb, except east, where you might roll 
if you chose ; in fact, you could hardly do other- 
wise. The first day of my hunt I started west. 
I climbed a hill devoted to pasture, passed 
through the bars, and faced my mountain. It 
presented a compact front of spruce-trees closely 
interlaced at the ground, and of course impas- 
sable. But a way opened in the midst, the path 
of a mountain brook, deserted now and dry. I 



78 IN SEABCH OF THE BLUE JAY. 

sought an alpenstock. I abandoned all impedi- 
menta. I started up tliat stony path escorted on 
each side by a close rank of spruce. It was ex- 
ceedingly steep, for the way of a brook on this 
mountain-side is a constant succession of falls. 
I scrambled over rocks; I stumbled on rolling 
stones ; I " caught " on twigs and dead branches ; 
I crept under fallen tree trunks ; the way grew 
darker and more winding. How merrily had the 
water rushed down this path, so hard to go up ! 
How easy for it to do so again ! Nothing seemed 
so natural. I began to look and listen for it. 

A mysterious reluctance to penetrating the 
heart of the mountain by this unknown and 
strangely hewn path stole over me. I felt like 
an intruder. Who could tell what the next turn 
might reveal? On a fallen trunk that barred 
my way I seated myself to rest. The silence 
was oppressive; not a bird called, not a squirrel 
chattered, not an insect hummed. The whole 
forest was one vast, deep, overwhelming soli- 
tude. I felt my slightest rustle an imperti- 
nence; I could not utter a sound; surely the 
spirit of the wood was near ! A strange excite- 
ment, almost amounting to terror, possessed me. 
I turned and fled — that is to say, crept — down 
my steep and winding stair,- back to the bars 
where I had taken leave of civilization (in the 
shape of one farmhouse). 



IN THE STEPS OF COWS, 79 

Here I paused, and again the legend of blue- 
jays allured me. From the bars, turning 
sharply to one side, were the tracks of cows. 
The strange feeling of oppression vanished. 
Wherever the gentle beasts had passed, I could 
go, sure of finding sunny openings, grassy spots, 
and nothing uncanny. Meekly I followed in 
their footsteps; the solemn grandeur of the 
forest had so stirred me that even the footprint 
of a cow was companionable. 

This path led down through a pleasant fringe 
of beech and birch and maple trees to a beauti- 
ful brook, which was easily crossed on stones, 
then up the bank on the other side into an open 
pasture with scattering spruce and other trees. 
Now I began to look for my bluejays. I dis- 
turbed the peace of a robin, who scolded me 
roundly from the top spire of a spruce. I 
started out in hot haste a dainty bit of bird life 
— the black and yellow warbler. I listened to 
the delightsome song of the field-sparrow. I 
heard the far-off drumming of the partridge. 
I walked and climbed myself tired. 

Then I sat down to wait. I made a nosegay 
of blue violets and sweetbrier leaves ; I regaled 
myself with wintergreens in memory of my child- 
hood; I wrote up my note-book; but never a 
blue feather did I see. 

The next day, between showers, I tried the 



80 IN SEARCH OF THE BLUE J AY. 

north, witli a guide — a visiting Massachusetts 
ornithologist — to show me a partridge nest with 
the bird sitting. We followed the ups and 
downs of the road for a mile, passing a meadow 
full of bobolinks, 

^* Bubbling rapturously, madly," 

climbed by a grass-grown wood road a moun- 
tain-side pasture, and reached the forest. Under 
a dead spruce sat my lady, in a snug bed among 
the fallen leaves. She was wet; her lovely 
mottled plumage was disarranged and draggled, 
but her head was drawn down into her feathers 
in patient endurance, the mother love triumphant 
over everji:hing, even fear. We stood within 
six feet of the shy creature; we discussed her 
courage in the face of the human monsters we 
felt ourselves to be. Not a feather fluttered, 
not an eyelid quivered; truly it was the perfect 
love that casteth out fear. 

My guide went on up to the top of Grey lock ; 
I turned back to pursue my search. 

Eastward was my next trip, down toward the 
brook that made a valley between Greylock and 
Ragged Mountain. My path was under the 
edge of the woods that fringed a moimtain 
stream. Not the smallest of the debt we owe 
the bonny brook is that it wears a deep gully, 
whose precipitous sides are clothed with a thick 



A COOL, GREEN NOOK, 81 

growth of waving trees — beech, white and black 
birches, maple, and chestnut — in refreshing 
and delightful confusion. The stream babbled 
and murmured at my side as I walked slowly 
down, peering in every bush for nests, and at 
last I parted the branches like a curtain and 
stepped within. It was a cool green solitude, a 
shrine, one of nature's most enchanting nooks, 
sacred to dreams and birds and — woodchucks, 
one of which sat straight up and looked solemnly 
at me out of his great brown eyes. 

I sat on the low-growing limb of a tree, and 
was rocked by the wind outside. I forgot my 
object. What did it matter that I should find 
my blue jay? Was it worth while to go on? 
Was anything worth while, indeed, except to 
dream and muse, lulled by the music of the 
''laughing water"? Ah! if one were a poet ! 

Then the birds came. A cat-bird first, with 
witching low song, eying me closely with that 
calm, dark eye of his, the while he poured it out 
from a shrub, 

*' Like dripping water falling slow 
Round mossy rocks, in music rare ; " 

a vireo, repeating over and over his few notes in 
tireless warble; high up in the maple across 
the chasm, a sweet-voiced goldfinch singing his 
soul away outside; and lastly, a robin, who 
broke the charm by a peremptory demand to 



82 IN SEARCH OF THE BLUE J AY. 

know my business in his private quarters. I 
rose to leave him in possession. In rising I dis- 
turbed another resident, a red squirrel, who ran 
out on a branch and delivered as vehement a 
piece of mind as I ever heard, stamping his little 
feet and jerking his bushy tail with every word, 
scolding all over, to the tip of his longest hair. 

I left them in their green paradise. I went 
to my room. I sat down in my rocker to con- 
sider. 

Then the winds got up. Through the "bel- 
lows pipe," as they suggestively call the head of 
the valley, there poured such a gale that the 
birds could hardly hold on to their perches. All 
day long it tossed the branches, tore off leaves, 
beat the birds, rattled the windows, and filled 
the blue cover to our green bowl of a valley with 
clouds, even half way down the sides of the 
mountains themselves. And at last they began 
to weep, and I spent my twilight by an open 
window, wrapped in a shawl, listening to the 

" Unrivaled one, the hermit-thrush, 
Solitary, singing in the west," 

and looking out upon the hills, where I still 
hoped to find my blue jay. 



VII. 

IN THE WOOD LOT. 

"There's bluejays a-plenty up in the wood 
lot," said the farmer's boy, hearing me lament 
my unsuccessful search for that wily bird. 
"There's one pair makes an awful fuss every 
time I passes." 

I immediately offered to accompany the youth 
on his next trip up the mountain, where he was 
engaged in dragging down to our level, sunshine 
and summer breezes, winter winds and pure 
mountain air, in the shape of the bodies of trees, 
whose noble heads were laid low by the axes last 
winter. One hundred and fif fcy cords of beauty, 
the slow work of unnumbered years, brought 
down to "what base uses" ! the most beautiful 
of nature's productions degraded to the lowest 
service — to fry our bacon and bake our pies ! 

The farmer did not look upon it exactly in 
that way; he called it "cord-wood," and his 
oxen dragged it down day by day. The point 
of view makes such a difference ! 

The road that wound down through the valley, 
skirting its hills, bridging its brooks, and con- 



84 



IN THE WOOD LOT. 



nectingthe lonely homestead with the rest of the 
human world, had on one side a beautiful border 
of all sorts of greeneries, just as Nature, with 
her inimitable touch, had placed them. It was a 
home and a cover for small birds ; it was a shade 
on a warm day; it was a delight to the eye at 
all times. Yet in the farmer's eye it was "shift- 
less " (the New Englander's bogy). The other 
side of the road he had "improved; " it gloried 
in what looked at a little distance like a single- 
file procession of glaring new posts, which on 
approaching were found to be the supports of 
one of man's neighborly devices — barbed wire. 
Rejoicing in this work of his hands on the left, 
he longed to turn his murderous weapons against 
the right side. He was labored with; he bided 
his time ; but I knew in my heart that whoever 
went there next summer would find that pictur- 
esque road bristling with barbed wire on both 
sides. It will be as ugly as man can make it, 
but it will be "tidy" (New England's shibbo- 
leth), for no sweet green thing will grow up be- 
side it. Nature does n't take kindly to barbed 
wire. 

The old stone wall at that time was an irresist- 
ible invitation to the riotous luxuriance of vines. 
Elder - bushes, with their fine cream - colored 
blossoms, hung lovingly over it; blackberry 
bushes, lovely from their snowy flowering to 



THE FIERY " CRITTERS:'' 85 

their rich autumn foliage, flourished beside it; 
and a thousand and one exquisite, and to me 
nameless, green things hung upon it, and leaned 
against it, and nearly covered it up. And what a 
garden of delight nestled in each protected cor- 
ner of an old-fashioned zigzag fence! Yet all 
these are under the ban — ''shiftless." 

Thanks be to the gods who sowed this country 
so full of stones and trees, that the army of 
farmers who have worried the land have n't 
succeeded in turning it into the abominatio*n of 
desolation they admire ! 

And now, having relieved my mind, I '11 go 
on with the bluejay hunt. 

The next morning it was, for a rarity, fine. 
I started up the wood road ahead of my guide, 
so that I might take my climb as easily as such 
a thing can be taken. Passing through the 
bare pasture, I entered the outlying clumps of 
spruce which form the advance-guard of the for- 
ests on Greylock, and here my leader overtook 
me, urging his fiery steeds, with their empty 
sled. Now horned beasts have had a certain 
terror for me ever since an exciting experience 
with them in my childhood. I stood respect- 
fully on one side, prepared to fly should the 
"critters" (local) show malicious intent. On 
they came, looking at me sharply with wicked 
eyes. I made ready for a rush, when, lo ! they 



86 



IN THE WOOD LOT. 



turned from me, and dashed madly into a spruce- 
tree, nearly upsetting themselves, and threaten- 
ing to run away. We were all afraid of each 
other. 

The mortified driver apologized for their be- 
havior on the ground that "they ain't much 
used to seeing a lady up in the wood lot." I 
generously forgave them, and then meekly fol- 
lowed in their footsteps, up, up, up toward the 
clouds, till we reached the bluej ay neighborhood. 
Here we parted. My escort passed on still 
higher, and I seated myself to see at last my 
bluej ays. 

Dead silence around me. Not a leaf stirred; 
not a bird peeped. I began to make a noise 
myself — calls and imitations (feeble) of bird- 
notes to arouse their curiosity; a bluej ay is a 
born investigator. No sign of heaven's color 
appeared except in the patches of sky between 
the leaves. 

Other wood dwellers came; a rose-breasted 
grosbeak, with lovely rosy shield, with much 
posturing and many sharp "clicks," essayed to 
find out what manner of irreverent intruder this 
might be. Later his modest gray-clad spouse 
joined him. They circled around to view the 
wonder on all sides. They exchanged dubious- 
sounding opinions. They were as little "used 
to seeing a lady " as the oxen. They slipped 



UNDER ROBIN SURVEILLANCE. 87 

away, and in a moment I heard his rich song 
from afar. 

No one else paid the slightest attention to my 
coaxing, and I returned by easy stages to the 
spruces, where I had the misfortune to arouse 
the suspicion of a robin. Do you know what it 
is to be under robin surveillance? Let* but one 
redbreast take it into his obstinate little head 
that you are a suspicious character, and he 
mounts the nearest tree — the very top twig, in 
plain sight — and begins his loud "Peep ! peep! 
tut, tut, tut ! Peep! peep! tut, tut, tut!" 

This is his tocsin of war, and soon his allies 
appear, and then 

*' From the north, from the east, from the south and the west, 
Woodland, wheat field, corn field, clover, 
Over and over, and over and over. 
Five o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve, or seven. 
Nothing but robin-calls heard under heaven." 

No matter what you do or what you don't do. 
One will perch on each side of you, and join the 
maddening chorus, driving every bird in the 
neighborhood either to join in the hue and cry 
(as do some of the sparrows), or to hide himself 
from the monster that has been discovered. 

I tried to tire them out by sitting absolutely 
motionless ; but three, who evidently had busi- 
ness in the vicinity, for each held a mouthful of 
worms, guarded me to right and left and in 



88 IN THE WOOD LOT, 

front, and never ceased their offensive remarks 
long enough to stuff those worms into the mouths 
waiting for them. 

I was not able to convince them that I had no 
designs on robin households, and I had to own 
myself defeated again. Then and there I aban- 
doned the search for the blue jay. 



VIII. 

THE BLUEJAY BABY. 

My time of triumph came, however, a little 
later. Birds may securely hide their nests, but 
they cannot always silence their nestlings. So 
soon as little folk find their voices, whether their 
dress be feathers, or furs, or French cambric, 
they are sure to make themselves heard and 
seen. 

One morning, two or three weeks after I had 
given up the bluejay search, and consoled my- 
self with looking after baby cat -birds and 
thrushes, I started out as usual for a walk. I 
turned naturally into a favorite path beside a 
brook that danced down the mountain below the 
house. It was near the bottom of a deep gully, 
where I had come to grief in my search for a 
veery baby. 

As I passed slowly up, looking well to my 
steps, and listening for birds, I heard a note 
that aroused me at once, — the squawk of a blue- 
jay. It came from the higher ground, and I 
looked about for a pathway up the steep bank 
on my right. At the most promising point I 



90 THE BLUE J AY BABY. 

could select I started my climb. Unfortunately 
that very spot had been already chosen by a 
small rill, a mere trickle of water, to come down. 
It was not big enough to make itself a channel 
and keep to it, but it sprawled all over the land. 
Now it lingered in the cows' footprints and 
made a little round pool of each ; then it loitered 
on a level bit of ground, and soaked it full; 
when it reached a comfortable bed between the 
roots of trees, it ahnost decided to stay and be a 
pond, and it dallied so long before it found a 
tiny opening and straggled out, that if it did 
not result in a pond, it did accomplish a treach- 
erous quagmire. In fact that undecided, feeble- 
minded streamlet totally "demoralized" the 
whole hillside, and with its vagaries I had to 
contend at every step of my way. 

I reached the top, but I left deep footprints 
to be turned into pools of a new pattern, and as 
trophy I carried away some of the soil on my 
dress. Of my shoes I will not speak; shall we 
not have souls above shoe-leather? 

As soon as I recovered breath after my hasty 
scramble to dry ground, I started toward a thick- 
growing belt of spruce trees which came down 
from the mountain and ended in a point, ^ — one 
tree in advance, like the leader of an army. 
Here I found the bird I was seeking, a much 
disturbed bluejay, who met me at the door — so 



THE BABIES AT LAST. 91 

to speak — with a defiant squawk, a warning to 
come no nearer. 

"Ah ha! " said I, exultingly, "are your little 
folk in there? Then I shall see them." 

I slowly advanced ; she disputed my passage 
at every step, but nothing was to be seen till her 
anxiety got the better of her discretion and she 
herself gave me the precious secret; she sud- 
denly slipped through the trees to the other side, 
and became perfectly silent. 

I could not follow her path through the tangle 
of trees, but I could go around, and I did. On 
a dead spruce wedged in among the living ones 
I saw the object of her solicitude; a lovely sight 
it was! Two young blue jays huddled close to- 
gether on a twig. They were "humped up," 
with heads drawn down into their shoulders, and 
breast feathers fluffed out like snowy-white floss 
silk, completely covering their feet and the perch. 
No wonder that poor little mother was anxious, 
for a more beautiful pair I never ^w, and to see 
them was to long to take them in one's hands. 

Silent and patient little fellows they appeared, 
looking at me with innocent eyes, but showing 
no fear. They were a good deal more con- 
cerned about something to eat, and when their 
mother came they reminded her by a low peep 
that they were still there. She gave them no- 
thing ; she was too anxious to get them out of 



92 THE BLUE J AY BABY, 

my sight, and she disappeared behind a thick 
branch. 

In a moment I heard the cry of a bird I could 
not see. So also did the twins on the tree, and 
to them it meant somebody being fed; they 
lifted their little wings, spread out like fans 
their short beautiful tails, and by help of both, 
half hopped, half flew through the branches to 
the other side. 

I followed, by the roundabout way again, and 
then I saw another one. Three bonny bairns in 
blue were on that dead spruce tree; two close 
together as before, and the third — ■ who seemed 
more lively — sitting alone. He lifted his crest 
a little, turned his head and looked squarely at 
me, but seeing nothing to alarm him — wise lit- 
tle jay! — did not move. Then again mamma 
came forward, and remonstrated and protested, 
but only by her one argument, a squawk. 

I quietly sat down and tried to make myself 
as much a part of the bank as possible, for I 
wanted the distracted dame in blue to go on with 
her household duties, and feed those babies. 
After a while she did calm down a little, though 
she kept one distrustful eye on me, and now and 
then came near and delivered a squawk at me, 
as if to assure me that she saw through my 
manoeuvres, and despised them. 

But I cared not at that moment for her opin- 



TOO SHARP FOR ME. 93 

ion of me ; slie did not move my sympathies as 
do many birds, for she appeared insulted and 
angry, not in the least afraid. I wanted to see 
her feed, and at last I did — almo&t ; she was to 
the last too sharp for me. 

She came with a mouthful of food. Each 
one of the three rose on his sturdy little legs, 
fluttered his wings, opened his beak and cried. 
It was a sort of whispered squawk, which shows 
that the bluejay is a wary bird ^ven in the 
cradle. When they were all roused and eager, 
the mother used that morsel as a bait to coax 
them through the tree again. She did not give 
it to either of her petitioners, but she moved 
slowly from branch to branch, holding it before 
them, and as one bird they followed, led by 
their appetite, like bigger folk, — 

" Three souls with but a single thought, 
Three hearts that beat as one ! " 

and as I had no desire to see them die of star- 
vation, and leave the world so much poorer in 
beauty, 1 came away and left them to their 
repast. . ' \ \~\ i 

That was not the end of the bluejay episode. 
A few days later a young bird, perhaps one of 
this very trio, set out by himself in search of 
adventures. Into the wide-open door of the 
barn he flew, probably to see for what the swal- 
lows were flying out and in. Alas for that 



94 THE BLUE J AY BABY. 

curious young bird ! He was noticed by the 
farmer's boy, chased into a corner, still out of 
breath from his first flight, then caught, thrust 
into an old canary cage, brought to the house, 
and given to the bird-student. 

Poor little creature ! he was dumb with fright, 
though he was not motionless. He beat himself 
against the wires and thrust his beak through 
the openings, in vain efforts to escape. We 
looked at him with great interest, but we had 
not the heart to keep him very long. In a few 
minutes he was taken out of the cage in a hand 
(which he tried to bite), carried to the door and 
set free. 

Away like a flash went the little boy blue 
and alighted in a tree beside the house. For a 
few moments he panted for breath, and then he 
opened his mouth to tell the news to whom it 
might concern. In rapid succession he uttered 
half a dozen jay-baby squawks, rested a mo- 
ment, then repeated them, hopping about the 
tree in great excitement. 

In less than thirty seconds his cries were 
answered. A bluej ay appeared on the barn; an- 
other was seen in a spruce close by ; three came 
to a tall tree across the road; and from near 
and far we heard the calls of friends trooping to 
the rescue. 

Meanwhile the birds of the neighborhood. 



TOO MUCH ATTENTION. 95 

where the squawk of a jay was seldom heard, 
began to take an interest in this unusual gath- 
ering. Two cedar birds, with the policy of 
peace which their Quaker garb suggests, betook 
themselves to a safe distance, a cat-bird went 
to the tree to interview the clamorous stranger, 
a vireo made its appearance on the branches, 
and followed the big baby in blue from perch to 
perch, looking at him with great curiosity, while 
a veery uttered his plaintive cry from the fence 
below. 

All this attention was too much for a blue- 
jay, who always wants plenty of elbow room in 
this wide world. He flew off towards the woods, 
where, after a proper interval to see that no 
more babies were in trouble, he was followed by 
his grown-up relatives from every quarter. But 
I think they had a convention to talk it over, up 
in the woods, for squawks and cries of many 
kinds came from that direction for a long time. 



IN THE BLACK RIVER COUNTRY. 



Where shall we keep the holiday ? 

Up and away ! where haughty woods 

Front the liberated floods : 

We will climb the broad-backed hills, 

Hear the uproar of their joy ; 

We will mark the leaps and gleams 

Of the new-delivered streams, 

And the murmuring river of sap 

Mount in the pipes of the trees. 

And the colors of joy in the bird 
And the love in his carol heard. 
Frog and lizard in holiday coats, 
And turtle brave in his golden spots. 

Emerson. 



IX, 

, THAT WITCHING SONG. 

A YEAR or two before setting up my tent in 
the Black River Country, began my acquaint- 
ance with the author of the witching song. 

The time was evening ; the place, the veranda 
of a friend's summer cottage at Lake George. 
The vireo and the redstart had ceased their 
songs; the cat-bird had flirted ''good-night" 
from the fence ; even the robin, last of all to go 
to bed, had uttered his final peep and vanished 
from sight and hearing; the sun had gone down 
behind the mountains across the lake, and I was 
listening for the whippoorwill who lived at the 
edge of the wood to take up the burden of song 
and carry it into the night. 

Suddenly there burst upon the silence a song 
that startled me. It was loud and distinct as 
if very near, yet it had the spirit and the echoes 
of the woods in it; a wild, rare, thrilling strain, 
the woods themselves made vocal. Such it 
seemed to me. I was strangely moved, and 
filled from that moment with an undying deter- 
mination to trace that witching song to the bird 
that could utter it. 



100 THAT WITCHING SONG. 

"I 'm going to seek my singer," was the mes- 
sage I flung back next morning, as, opera-glass 
in hand, I started down the orchard towards the 
woods. I followed the path under the apple- 
trees, passed the daisy field, white from fence to 
fence with beauty, — despair of the farmer, but 
delight of the cottagers, — hurried across the pas- 
ture beyond, skirting the little knoll on which 
the cow happened this morning to be feeding, 
crossed the brook on a plank, and reached my 
daily walk. 

This was a broad path that ran for half a 
mile on the edge of the lake. Behind it, pene- 
trated every now and then by a foot-path, was 
the bit of old woods that the clearers of this land 
had the grace to leave, to charm the eye and 
refresh the soul (though probably not for that 
reason). Before it stretched the clear, spark- 
ling waters of Lake George, and on the other 
side rose abruptly one of the beautiful mountains 
that fringe that exquisite piece of water. 

Usually I passed half the morning here, 
seated on one of the rocks that cropped out 
everywhere, filling my memory with pictures to 
take home with me. But to-day I could not 
stay. I entered one of the paths, passed into 
the grand, silent woods, found a comfortable 
seat on a bed of pine needles, with the trimk of 
a tall maple tree for a back, and prepared to 



TESTING THOBEAU. 101 

wait. I would test Thoreau's assertion that if 
one will sit long enough in some attractive spot 
in the woods, sooner or later every inhabitant 
o£ it will pass before him. I had confidence 
in Thoreau's woodcraft, for has not Emerson 
said : — 

'' What others did at distance hear, 

And guessed within the thicket's gloom, 
Was shown to this philosopher, 

And at his bidding seemed to come ' ' ? 

and I resolved to sit there till I should see my 
bird. I was confident I should know him: a 
wild, fearless eye, I was sure, a noble bearing, 
a dweller on the tree-tops. 

Alas! I forgot one phrase in Thoreau's state- 
ment: "sooner or later. ^^ No doubt the Con- 
cord hermit was a true prophet; but how many 
of the inhabitants are "later " — too late, indeed, 
for a mortal who, unlike our New England phi- 
losopher, has such weak human needs as food 
and rest, and whose back will be tired in spite 
of her enthusiasm, if she sits a few hours on a 
rock, with a tree for a back. 

Many of the sweet and shy residents of that 
lovely bit of wildness showed themselves while I 
waited. A flicker, whose open door was in 
sight, and who was plainly engaged in setting 
her house in order, entertained me for a long 
time. Silently she stole in, I did not see how. 



102 THAT WITCHING SONG. 

Her first appearance to me was on the trunk, 
the opposite side from her nest, whence she slid, 
or so it looked, in a series of jerks to her door, 
paused a few minutes on the step to look sharply 
at me, and then disappeared, head first, within. 
Quick as a jack-in-the-box, her head popped out 
again to see if the spy had moved while she had 
been out of sight, and finding all serene, she 
threw herself with true feminine energy into her 
work. The beak-loads she brought to the door 
and flung out seemed so insufficient that I 
longed to lend her a broom; but I found she 
had a better helper than that, a partner. 

When she tired, or thought she had earned a 
rest, she came out, and flying to the limb above 
the nest, began softly calling. Never was the 
ventriloquial quality more plainly exhibited. I 
heard that low "kal kal ka! ka! ka!" long 
repeated, and I looked with interest in every 
direction to see the bird appear. For a long 
time I did not suspect the sly dame so quietly 
resting on the branch, and when I did it was 
only by the closest inspection that I discovered 
the slight jerk of the tail, the almost impercep- 
tible movement of the beak, that betrayed her. 

Another as well as I heard that call, and he 
responded. He was exactly like her, with the 
addition of a pair of black "mustachios," and it 
may be she told him that the strange object un- 



A ''WANDERING VOICE.'' 103 

der the maple had not moved for half an hour, 
and was undoubtedly some new device of man's, 
made of wood perhaps, for he did not hesitate 
on the door-step, but plunged in at once, and 
devoted himself to the business in hand, clearing 
out, while she vanished. 

But though I watched this domestic scene 
with pleasure, and saw and noted every feather 
that appeared about me, the tree-tops had my 
closest attention, for there I was certain I 
should find my rare singer. Hours passed, the 
shadows grew long, and sadly and slowly I took 
my way homewards, wishing I had a charm 
against fatigue, mosquitoes, and other terrors 
of the night, and could stay out till he came. 

All through the month of June I haunted that 
wood, seeking the unknown. Every evening I 
heard him, but no sight came to gladden my 
eyes. I grew almost to believe it merely ''a 
wandering voice," and I went home with my 
longing unsatisfied. 

When next the month of roses came around, 
I betook myself to a spur of the Hoosac Moun- 
tains to see my birds. The evening of my 
arrival, as the twilight gathered, rose the call pf 
my witching voice. 

"What bird is that?" I demanded, with the 
usual result; no one knew. (A chapter might 
be written on the ignorance of country people of 



104 THAT WITCHING SONG. 

their own birds and plants. A chapter, did I 
say? A book, a dozen books, the country is 
full of material.) 

"I shall find that bird," I said, "if I stay a 
year." In the morning I set out. The song 
had come from the belt of trees that hang lov 
ingiy over a little stream on its merry way down 
the mountain, and thither I turned my steps. 
Now, my hostess had a drove of twenty cows, 
wild, head-tossing creatures, — "Holsteins " they 
were, — and having half a dozen pastures, they 
were changed about from day to day. Driving 
them every morning was almost as exciting as 
the stampede of a drove of horses, and it seemed 
as if they could never reconcile themselves to the 
idiosyncrasies of the American woman. The 
pasture where they were shut for the day was 
as sacred from my foot as if it were filled with 
mad dogs. My mere appearance near the fence 
was a signal for a headlong race to the spot to 
see what on earth I was doing now. 

I went into the field, looking cautiously 
about, and satisfying myself that the too curi- 
ous foreigners were not within sight, found a 
C9mfortable seat on a bank overlooking the 
whole beautiful view of the brook and its 
waving green borders, and commanding the ap- 
proach to my side of the field. 

This time again my mysterious singer proved 



A PANIC AMONG THE TOWHEES. 105 

to be among the "later" ones, and after spend- 
ing an hour or two there, I rose to go back, 
when in passing a thick-growing evergreen tree, 
I saw that I had created a panic. There was a 
flutter of wings, there were cries, and on the 
tree, in plain sight, the towhee bunting and his 
brown-clad spouse. Of course there must be 
some reason for this reckless display; I sought 
the cause, and found a nest, a mere depression 
in the ground, and one sorry -looking youngster, 
the sole survivor of the perils of the situation. 
Over that one nestling they were as concerned 
as the proverbial hen with one chicken, and they 
flitted about in distress while I looked at their 
half -fledged bantling, and hoped it was a singer 
to ring the delightful silver-toned tremolo that 
had charmed me that morning. 

That evening, listening on the piazza to the 
usual twilight chorus, the wood-thrush far-off, 
the towhee from the pasture, the robins all 
around, I heard suddenly the "quee-o" of a 
bird I knew, so near that I started, and my eyes 
fell directly upon him, standing on the lowest 
limb of a dead tree, not ten feet from me. 

He was so near I did not need my glass, nor 
indeed did I dare move a finger, lest he take 
flight. Several times he uttered his soft call, 
and then, while my eyes were fastened upon him, 
he began quivering with excitement, his wings 



106 THAT WITCHING SONG. 

lifted a little, and in a clear though low tone he 
uttered the long-sought song. I held my breath, 
and he repeated it, each time lower than before. 
Even at that distance it sounded far off, and 
doubtless many times in the woods, when I 
looked for it afar, it may have been over my 
head. 

A long time — how long I cannot guess — that 
beautiful bird sat and sang his witching even- 
ing hymn, while I listened spellbound. 

It was the tawny thrush, — the veery. 



X. 

THE VEERY MOTHER. 

My next interview with the veery family took 
place the following June, at the foot of Mount 
Greylock, in Massachusetts. I had just returned 
from a walk down the meadow, put on wrapper 
and slippers, and established myself by the win- 
dow to write some letters. Pen, ink, paper, 
and all the accessories were spread out before 
me. I dipped my pen in the ink and wrote 
''My Dear," when a sound fell upon my ears: 
it was the cry of a young bird ! it was new to 
me ! it had a veery ring ! 

Away went my good resolutions, and my pen 
with them ; papers flew to right and left ; hither 
and thither scattered the letters I had meant to 
answer. I snatched my glass, seized my hat as 
I passed, and was outdoors. In the open air 
the call sounded louder, and plainly came from 
the borders of the brook that with its fringe of 
trees divides the yard from the pasture beyond. 
It was a two-syllabled utterance like ''quee wee," 
but it had the intermitted or tremolo sound that 
distinguishes the song of the tawny thrush from 



108 THE VEEBY MOTHER. 

others. I could locate the bird almost to a twig, 
but nobody cared if I could. It was on the 
other side of the brook and the deep gully 
through which it ran, and they who had that 
youngster in charge could laugh at me. 

But I knew the way up the brookside. I 
went down the road to the bars, crossed the 
water on stepping-stones, and in a few minutes 
entered a cow-path that wandered up beside the 
stream. All was quiet; the young thrush no 
doubt had been hushed. They were waiting for 
me to pass by, as I often did, for that was a 
common walk of mine. On this log I sat one 
day to watch a woodchuck ; a little further on 
was the rock from which I had peeped into a 
robin's nest, where one egg had been alone a 
week, and I never saw a robin near it. 

At length I reached the path that ran up the 
bank where I usually turned and went to the 
pasture, for beyond this the cow-path descended, 
and looked damp and wild, as if it might once 
have been the way of the cows, but now was 
abandoned. Still all was quiet, and I thought 
of my letters unanswered, of my slippers, and — 
and I turned to go back. 

Just at that moment that unlucky young 
thrush opened his mouth for a cry ; the birds 
had been too sure. I forgot my letters again, 
and looked at the path beyond. I thought I 



MADAM GAVE THE CUE. 109 

could see a dry way, so I took a step or two for- 
ward. This was too much I this I had never be- 
fore done, and I believe those birds were well 
used to my habits, for the moment I passed my 
usual bounds a cry rang out, loud, and a bird 
flew past my head. She alighted near me. It 
was a tawny thrush ; and when one of those shy 
birds, who fly if I turn my head behind the 
blinds, gets bold, there 's a good reason for it. 
I thanked madam for giving me my cue; I 
knew now it was her baby, and I walked slowly 
on. 

I had to go slowly, for the placing of each 
foot required study. It is surprising what a 
quantity of water will stand on the steep sides 
of a mountain. Some parts of this one were 
like a marsh, or a saturated sponge, and every- 
where a cow had stepped was a small pool. As 
I proceeded the thrush grew more and more un- 
easy. She came so near me that I saw she had 
a gauzy-winged fly in her mouth, another proof 
that she had young ones near. She called, with- 
out opening her beak, her usual low '^quee." 

Finding a dry spot, and the baby-cry having 
ceased, I sat down to consider and to wait. 
Then the bird seemed suddenly to remember how 
compromising her mouthful was, and she planted 
herself on a branch before my eyes, deliberately 
ate that fly and wiped her beak, as who should 



110 THE VEERY MOTHER. 

say, ''You thought I was carrying that morsel 
to somebody, but you see I have eaten it myself ; 
there 's nothing up that path." But much as 
I respected the dear mother, I did not believe 
her eloquent demonstration. I selected another 
point where I could stop a minute, and picked 
my way to it. Then all my poor little bird's 
philosophy deserted her; she came close to me, 
she uttered the greatest variety of cries ; she al- 
most begged me to believe that she was the only 
living creature up that gully. And so much 
did she move me, so intolerably brutal did she 
make me feel, that for the second time I was 
very near to turning back. 

But the cry began again. How could I miss 
so good a chance to see that tawny youngster, 
when I knew I should not lay finger on it? I 
hardened my heart, and struggled a few feet 
further. 

Then some of the neighbors came to see what 
was the trouble, and if they could do anything 
about it. A black-and-white creeper rose from 
a low bush with a surprised ''chit-it-it-it," 
alighted on a tree and ran glibly up the upright 
branch as though it were a ladder. But a 
glance at the "cause of all this woe" was more 
than his courage could endure ; one cry escaped 
him, and then a streak of black and white passed 
over the road out of sight. 



THE BLEAT OF THE VEEEY. Ill 

Next came a redstart, himself the head of a 
family, for he too had his beak full of provisions. 
He was not in the least dismayed ; he perched on 
a twig and looked over at me with interest, as 
if trying to see what the veery found so terrify- 
ing, and then continued on his way home. A 
snow-bird was the last visitor, and he came 
nearer and nearer, not at all frightened, merely 
curious, but madam evidently distrusted him, 
for she flew at him, intimating in a way that he 
plainly understood that "his room was better 
than his company." 

Still I floundered on, and now the disturbed 
mother added a new cry, like the bleating of a 
lamb. I never should have suspected a bird of 
making that sound ; it was a perfect "ba-ha-ha." 
Yet on listening closely, I saw that it was the 
very tremolo that gives the song of the male its 
peculiar thrill. Her ''ba-ha-ha," pitched to his 
tone, and with his intervals, would be a perfect 
reproduction of it. No doubt she could sing, 
and perhaps she does, — who knows ? 

Now the mother threw in occasionally a louder 
sort of call-note like "pee-ro," which was 
quickly followed by the appearance of another 
thrush, her mate, I presume. He called, too, 
the usual "quee-o," but he kept himself well out 
of sight; no reckless mother-love made him lose 
his reason. Still, steadily though slowly, and 



112 THE VEEEY MOTHER. 

with many pauses to study out the next step, 
I progressed. The cry, often suppressed for 
mmutes at a time, was perceptibly nearer. The 
bank was rougher than ever, but with one 
scramble I was sure I could reach my prize. I 
started carefully, when a cry rang out sudden 
and sharp and close at hand. At that instant 
the stone I had put faith in failed me basely and 
rolled: one foot loeiit in^ a dead twig caught my 
hair, part of my dress remained with the sharp 
end of a broken branch, I came to one knee (but 
not in a devotional spirit); I struck the ground 
with one hand and a brier-bush with the other, 
but I did not drop my glass, and I reached my 
goal in a fashion. 

I paused to recover my breath and give that 
youngster, who I was persuaded was laughing at 
me all the time, a chance to lift up his voice 
again. But he had subsided, while the mother 
was earnest as ever. Perhaps I was too near, 
or had scared him out of his wits by my sensa- 
tional entry. While I was patiently studying 
every twig on the tree from which the last cry 
had come, the slight flutter of a leaf caught my 
eye, and there stood the long-sought infant him- 
self. 

He was a few feet below me. I could have 
laid my hands upon him, but he did not appear 
to see me, and stood like a statue while I studied 



THE SUPREME MOMENT. 113 

his points. Mamma, too, was suddenly quiet; 
either she saw at last that my intentions were 
friendly, or she thought the supreme moment 
had come, and was paralyzed. I had no leisure 
to look after her ; I wanted to make acquaint- 
ance with her bairn, and I did. He was the ex- 
act image of his parents ; I should have known 
him anywhere, the same soft, tawny back, and 
light under-parts, but no tail to be seen, and 
only a dumpy pair of wings, which would not 
bear him very far. The feathers of his side 
looked rough, and not fully out, but his head 
was lovely and his eye was the wild free eye of a 
veery. I saw the youngster utter his cry. I 
saw him fly four or five feet, and then I climbed 
the bank, hopeless of returning the way I had 
come, pushed my way between detaining spruces, 
and emerged once more on dry ground. I had 
been two hours on the trail. 

I slipped into the house the back way, and 
hastened to my room, where I counted the cost : 
slippers ruined, dress torn, hand scratched, toi- 
let a general wreck. But I had seen the tawny- 
thrush baby, and I was happy. And it 's no 
common thing to do, either. Does not Emerson 
count it among Thoreau's remarkable feats that 

" All her shows did Nature yield 
To please and win this pilgrim wise ; 
He found the tawny thrush's brood, 
And the shy hawk did wait for him " ? 



XI. 

THE TAWNY THKUSH'S BROOD. 

"He found the tawny thrush's brood," says 
Emerson, in enumerating the special gifts of 
the nature-lover whose praise he celebrates. 
Whether the reference were to Thoreau or to 
another "forest-seer," it was certainly to a for- 
tunate and happy man, whom I have always 
envied till I learned to find the shy brood my- 
self. 

I shall never forget the exciting and blissful 
moment when I discovered my first tawny-thrush 
nest. It was the crowning event of a long 
search. 

It was not until the fourth year that I had 
looked for him, that I came really to know the 
bird, to see his family, and last of all his nest. 
My summer abiding-place in the Black River 
country was very near a bit of woods where 
veeries were plentiful, and I saw them at all 
hours, and under nearly all conditions. 

My favorite seat was at the foot of a low- 
growing tree in the edge of the woods, where the 
branches hung over and almost hid me. From 



SEEKING THE NEST, 115 

under my green screen I could look out into 
a field golden with buttercups, with scattering 
elms and maples, while behind me was the for- 
est, the chosen haunt of this bird. Here, un- 
seen, I listened to his song, — 

*' O matchless melody ! perfect art ! 
O lovely, lofty voice unfaltering ! " 

till my soul was filled with rapture, and a long- 
ing to know him in his home relations took such 
possession of me that the world seemed to hold 
but one object of desire, a veery's nest. 

Yet though the woods were full of them, so 
wary and so wise were the little builders that not 
a nest could I find. I studied the descriptions 
in the books ; I examined the nests in a collection 
at hand. The books declared, and the speci- 
mens confirmed the statement, that the cradle of 
the tawny thrush would be found amid certain 
surroundings. Many such places existed in the 
woods, and I never passed one without seeking 
a nest ; but always unsuccessfully, till, as June 
days were rapidly passing, I came to have a 
feeling something akin to despair when I heard 
the veery notes. 

One day, — it was Sunday afternoon, — I was 
still grieving over the lost, or rather the unf ound 
nest, and my friend was sitting composedly on 
the veranda writing letters, when restlessness 
seized me, and I resolved to take a quiet walk. 



116 THE TAWNY THRUSH'S BROOD. 

I sauntered slowly down the road, towards the 
woods, of course; all roads in that charming 
place led to the woods. 

I had nearly reached the "Sunset Corner," 
where I had a half -formed intention of resting 
and then turning back, when my eyes fell upon 
— but hold! I will not describe it, lest I 
enlighten one more collector, and aid in the 
robbery, perhaps the death, of one more bird- 
mother. Suffice it to say what I saw resembled, 
though not perfectly, the surroundings of a 
veery's nest as described in the books. 

Of course there could be no nest there, I 
thought, yet the ruling passion asserted itself 
at once. It would at least do no harm to look. 
I left the path, walked carelessly up to the spot, 
and looked at it. It seemed empty of life ; but 
as I gazed, there gradually took form a head, a 
pair of anxious eyes fixed upon mine, a beak 
pointed upward, and there was my nest ! almost 
at my feet. 

Joy and surprise contended within me. I 
thought not of the mother's anxiety; I stood 
and stared, absolutely paralyzed with delight. 

But not for long. I remembered my friend 
who had not found the tawny thrush's nest, and 
with whom I must instantly share my happiness, 
and carefully marking the locality, not to lose 
what I had so accidentally found, and might so 



ANOTHER TRAGEDY. 117 

easily lose, I moved quietly away till I reached 
the road. Then I hurried to an opening in the 
trees from which the house could be seen. Here 
I stopped; the letter-writer looked up. I waved 
my green bough in triumph above my head, and 
with the other hand I beckoned. 

"A veery's nest!" she thought at once. 
Away went paper and pen, and in a moment she 
joined me. Together we stood beside the beau- 
tiful sitting thrush, so brave, though no doubt 
suffering from deadly terror. Then we slowly 
walked away, rejoicing. It was so near the 
house! so easy to watch! the bird not at all 
afraid ! All the way home we congratulated our- 
selves. 

The next morning our first thought was of the 
veery's nest, and on starting out for the day we 
turned in that direction. Alas! the old story! 
The nest was overturned and thrown out of place, 
the leaves were trampled; there had evidently 
been a struggle of some kind. No birds, no 
eggs, not a bit of broken shell — nothing was 
left, except one dark brown spotted feather from 
a large bird, whether hawk or owl I shall never 
know, for neglecting to take it at the moment, 
it was gone when I thought of it as a witness. 

Again the old longing for a nest assailed me ; 
but I was not without hope, for I had my hint. 
I had found out what sort of places the veeries 



118 THE TAWNY TURUSWS BROOD. 

in this neighborhood liked. After that I never 
went into the woods, on whatever errand bent, 
but I kept my eyes open for the chosen situa- 
tion. I examined dozens of promising spots, and 
I found nests that had been used, which proved 
that I was on the right track, and kept up my 
courage. 

It was several days before another tawny- 
thrush cradle in use gladdened our eyes, and this 
was in a wild part of the woods where we seldom 
went. We were drawn there by the song of a 
tiny warbler, whose nest my friend desired to 
find, since it was rare ; and in passing a thicket 
of maple saplings three feet high, she discovered 
a nest. She quickly parted the leaves and 
looked in; three young birds opened their 
mouths for food. ''Veeries!" she exclaimed, 
in surprise. ''What a strange place! " 

This little home rested on a bare dead stick 
that had fallen and lodged in a living branch, 
and the dead leaves used by veeries in their 
building made it conspicuous, when the eyes hap- 
pened to fall upon it; but it was so well con- 
cealed by living branches that one might pass 
fifty times and not see it. I describe this loca- 
tion, for it was very unusual. 

We looked at the birdlings ; we walked on till 
we came to the place where we turned from the 
path to see the warbler's little domicile. My 



KEEPING STILL IN THE WOODS, 119 

friend passed along. I lingered a moment, for 
it was a lovely spot, attractive to birds as to 
bird-lovers, and high up in the air on the up- 
turned roots of a fallen tree 

' ' an elder or two 
Foamed over with blossoms white as spray." 

While I stood there admiring the brave little 
bush that kept on living and blooming, though 
lifted into an unnatural position by the tree at 
whose feet it had grown, some mysterious draw- 
ing made me look closely at a spot beside the 
road which we had passed many times without 
special notice. There I found our third veery 
nest, the mother bird sitting. 

Henceforth, every morning we went up the 
veery road, and before each little nursery we sat 
us down to watch and study. It was necessary 
to be very quiet, the birds in the saplings were 
so nervous; but keeping still in the woods in 
summer is not the easy performance it is else- 
where, though great are the inducements. From 
one side comes the chirp of the winter wren, 
from the other, low, excited calls of veeries, and 
nothing but absolute quiet seems necessary to 
capture some of the charming secrets of their 
lives. Meanwhile a dancing and singing host 
collects around one's head. I call up my phi- 
losophy ; I resolve not to care, though I shall be 
devoured. My philosophy stands the strain ; I 



120 THE TAWNY THRUSHES BROOD. 

do not care ; but my nerves basely fail me, and 
after a few moments, and a dozen stings here 
and there, I spring involuntarily to my feet, 
wildly flourish my wisp of leaves, and of course 
put to instant flight the actors in the drama be- 
fore me. 

The pair of veeries in the maple bushes were 
never reconciled to our visits. They called and 
cried in all the varied inflections of their sweet 
voices, and they moved uneasily about on the 
low branches with mouths full of food. But 
though we were as motionless as circumstances 
would permit, they never learned to trust us. 

One — the mother, doubtless — did sometimes 
pay a flying visit to her three darlings under the 
leaves ; but she undoubtedly felt that she took 
her life in her hands (so to speak), and it did 
not give her courage. She returned to her post 
and cried no less than before. We were not 
heartless ; we could not bear to torture the timid 
creatures, and therefore we never stayed very 
long. 

Every day we looked at the growing babies, 
who passed most of their time in sleep, as babies 
should; and at last came the time, sooner than 
expected, when we found the family had flitted. 
Nestlings cradled near the ground seem to be 
spared the long period in the nest endured by 
birdlings who must be able to fly before they 



BABIES ON THE GROUND, 121 

can safely go. Young veeries and bobolinks, 
song sparrows and warblers, who build low, ap- 
parently take leave of the nursery as soon they 
can stand up. Thereafter the parents must 
seek them on the ground; and if the student 
follows their chirps, he will often see the droll 
little dumpy fellows running about or crouched 
under bushes until their wing feathers shall grow 
and lift them to the bird's world, above the dull 
earth. 

After the exit of the family in the maples, we 
kept closer watch of the remaining nest. Every 
day we passed it, and not always at the same 
hour, yet never but once did we find the mother 
away, and seven days after that morning, when 
not one youngster had broken the shell, the fam- 
ily was gone. 

The young birds in the maples we had seen 
in the nest for five days after they were hatched, 
so we were forced to believe that either the sec- 
ond nest had been robbed, or that the mother 
had watched for us, and flown to cover her ba- 
bies after they were hatched, till we had paid 
our daily visit and passed on. This latter may 
be the correct conclusion, and if so, her conduct 
was entirely different from that of any veery I 
have seen. 

Whatever cause had emptied the thrush cradle 
we found no signs of disturbance about it, and 



122 THE TAWNY THRUSH'S BROOD. 

we heard no lamentations. But we did hear 
from every impenetrable tangle in the woods, 
the baby-cries of young thrushes ; and we ven- 
tured to hope that no hawk or owl or squirrel, 
or other foe in feathers or in fur, had carried 
off the nestlings of that brave brown-eyed 
mamma. 



XII. 

A MEADOW NEST. 

A bird's nest in the middle of a meadow is as 
isolated as if on an island; for the most eager 
bird student, though he may look and long 
afar off, will hesitate before he harrows the soul 
of the owner of the fair waving sea of grass 
by trampling it down. In such a secure place, 
among scattered old apple-trees, a pair of veeries 
had set up their household, surrounded and pro- 
tected from every enemy who does not wear 
wings. 

They were late in nesting, for young veeries 
were out everywhere. Doubtless the first home 
had been destroyed, and they had selected this 
retreat in the midst of the tall grass for its se- 
clusion and apparent safety. 

What dismay, then, must have filled the heart 
of the timid creatures when there arrived, one 
morning, a party of men and horses and ma- 
chines, who proceeded at once, with the clatter 
and confusion which follows the doings of men, 
to lay low their green protecting walls, and ex- 
pose their cherished treasures to the greed or the 



124 A MEADOW NEST. 

cruelty of their worst enemies ! Not less their 
surprise and grief when, after the uproar of cut- 
ting, raking and carrying away their only 
screen, there entered the silent but watchful 
spies, who planted their stools in plain sight, to 
take note of all their doings. 

The nest, with its babies three, was wide open 
to the sun ; no one could pass without seeing it. 
It was in a cluster of shoots growing up from 
the roots of an old apple-tree, and so closely 
crowded between them that its shape was oval. 

The nestlings were nearly ready to fly, and I 
hoped that birds brave enough to come out of the 
woods and build among apple-trees would be 
less afraid of people than the woods dwellers. 
So when I learned of my comrade's discovery I 
hastened at once to make the acquaintance of 
this, our fourth nesting-veery of the summer. 

The parents were absent when I seated myself 
at some distance from their homestead to wait. 
They soon came, together, with food in their 
mouths ; but their eager, happy manner vanished 
at sight of me, and they abandoned themselves 
to utter despair, after the manner of veeries. 
They stood motionless on neighboring perches, 
and cried and bewailed the anticij)ated fate of 
those babies for all of the short time that I was 
able to endure it. A kingbird came to the tree 
under which I sat, to see for himself the terrible 



THEY REFUSE TO BE RECONCILED. 125 

bugaboo, and a robin or two, as usual, interested 
themselves in the affairs of a neighbor in trouble. 

Thirty minutes proved to be as long as I could 
bring myself to stay, and then I meekly retired 
to the furthest corner of the field, where I made 
myself as inconspicuous as possible, and hoped I 
might be allowed to remain. Kingbird and 
robins accepted the compromise and returned to 
their own affairs ; but the veeries by turns fed 
the babies and reviled me from a tree near my 
retreat, till I took pity on their distress and left 
the orchard altogether. 

Not only does the veery exhibit this strong 
liking for solitude, and express the loneliness of 
the woods more perfectly than any other bird, 
with the exception, perhaps, of the wood-pewee ; 
but his calls and cries are all plaintive, many of 
them sensational, a.nd one or two really tragic. 

His most common utterance, as he flits lightly 
from branch to branch, is a low, sweet ''quee-o," 
sometimes hardly above a whisper. When ev- 
erything is quiet about him one may often hear 
an extraordinary performance. Beginning the 
usual call of '''quee-o," in a tender and mournful 
tone, he will repeat it again and again at short 
intervals, every time with more pathetic inflec- 
tion, till the wrought-up listener cannot resist 
the feeling that the next sound must be a burst 
of tears. Although his notes seem melancholy 



126 A MEADOW NEST. 

to hearers, however, the beautiful bird himself is 
far from expressing that emotion in his manner. 

Aside from the enchanting quality of his calls, 
and the thrilling magnetism of his song, the 
tawny thrush is an exceedingly interesting bird. 
In his reserved way he is socially inclined, show- 
ing no dislike to an acquaintance with his human 
neighbors, and even evincing a curiosity and 
willingness to be friendly, most winning to see. 

Speak to one who, as you passed, has flown 
up from the ground and alighted on the lowest 
limb of a tree, looking at you with clear, calm 
eyes. He will not fly; he will even answ^er you. 
You may stand there half an hour and talk to 
him and hear his low replies. It seems as if it 
were the easiest thing in the world to inspire him 
with perfect confidence, to coax him to a real 
intimacy. But there is a limit to his trustful- 
ness. When he has a nest and little ones to 
protect, as already shown, he is a different bird ; 
he is wild with terror and distress, and refuses 
to be comforted when one' approaches the sacred 
spot. 

This unfortunate distrust of one's intentions 
makes it very hard for a student who loves the 
individual bird to watch his nest. One can't 
endure to give pain to the gentle and winsome 
creature. The mournful, despairing cry of both 
parents, ''ke-o-ik! ke-o-ik! ke>o-ik! "constantly 



THE VEERY A HUMORIST, 127 

repeated, makes me, at least, feel like a robber 
and a murderer, and no number of ''facts " to be 
gained will compensate me for the suffering thus 
caused. 

One more phase of veery character I was sur- 
prised and delighted to learn. Sitting on a log 
in the edge of the woods one evening, just at 
sunset, I listened to the singing of one of these 
birds quite close to me, but hidden from sight. 
I had never been so near a singer, and I was 
surprised to hear, after every repetition of his 
song, alow response, a sort of whispered "chee." 
Was it his mate answering, or criticising his 
music? Was it the first note of his newly- 
fledged offspring? Or could it be sotto voce 
remarks of the bird himself ? It was impossible 
to decide, and I went home much puzzled to ac- 
count for it ; but a day or two later the mystery 
was solved, — the thrush showed himself to be a 
humorist. 

The odd performance by which I discovered 
this fact I saw through my closed blind. The 
bird was in plain sight on a small dead tree, but 
it was a retired spot, where he was accustomed 
to see no one, and he evidently did not suspect 
that he had a listener. 

He had eaten his fill from a cluster of elder- 
berries I had hung on the tree, and he lingered 
to sing a little, as he often did. First he ut- 



128 



A ^LEAJjOW nest. 



tered a call, aloud, clear ''quee-o,'' and followed 
it instantly by a mocking squawk in an under- 
tone. 1 could hardly believe my eyes and ears, 
and at once gave much closer attention to him. 
As if for the express purpose of convincing me 
that I had not been mistaken, he instantly re- 
peated his effort ; and after doing so two or three 
times, he poured out his regular song in his 
sweet, ringing voice, and followed it by a whis- 
pered ''mew," almost exactly in the tone of 
pussy herself. 

He was not far from my window, across a 
small yard, and as plainly seen through my 
glass as though not six feet away. I saw his 
beak and throat, and am absolutely certain that 
he delivered every note. The absorbed singer 
stood there motionless a long time, and carried 
on this queer conversation with himself. It 
sounded precisely like two birds, one of whom 
was mocking or ridiculing the other in a low 
tone. 

Sometimes the undertone, as said above, was 
a squawk; again it resembled a squeal; now it 
was petulant, as though the performer scoffed 
at his owTi singing ; and then it was a perfect 
copy of the song itself, given in an indescribably 
sneering manner. I could think of nothing but 
the way in which one child will sometimes mock 
the words of another. 



A DROLL PERFORMANCE. 129 

It was very droll, as well as exceedingly in- 
teresting, and I hope some day to study further 
this unfamiliar side of the thrush nature. 

After my unsuccessful attempt to disarm the 
fears and suspicions of the meadow-nesting 
thrushes, we left the little family to its much 
loved solitude, and in a day or two the whole 
nestful departed. 



XIII. 

A JUNE ROUND OF CALLS. 

" I SHOULD like to meet you two in that rig 
on Fifth Avenue," calmly said our hostess one 
morning in June, as we started out on our reg- 
ular round of calls. 

What a suggestion ! We stared at each other 
with a new standard of criticism in our eyes. 
We were not exactly in ordinary visiting cos- 
tume; but then, neither were we making ordi- 
nary visits, for the calling-list of June differs in 
every way from that of January. The neigh- 
bors at whose doors we appeared would be quite 
as well (or as ill) pleased to see us in our dull 
green woods dress, with fresh leaves on our hats 
to convey the impression that we were mere per- 
ambulating shrubs, with opera-glasses instead of 
cards, and camp-stools in place of a carriage, as 
though we had been in regulation array. Away 
we went, the big dog prancing ahead with the 
camp-stool of his mistress. 

Our first call was upon a small dame very 
high up in the world, thirty feet at least. The 
mention of Fifth Avenue suggests that possibly 



MANNERS IN THE WOODS. 131 

our manners were not above criticism. We in- 
troduced ourselves to Madam Wood-Pewee not 
by ringing and sending up cards, but by pausing 
before her door, seating ourselves on our stools, 
and leveling our glasses at her house. We felt, 
indeed, that we had almost a proprietary inter- 
est in that little lichen - covered nest resting 
snugly in a fork of a dead branch, for we had 
assisted in building it, at least by our daily 
presence, during the week or two that she spent 
in bringing, in the most desultory way, snips of 
material, fastening them in place, and moulding 
the whole by getting in the nest and pressing 
her breast against it, while turning slowly round 
and round. Now that she had really settled her- 
self to sit, we never neglected to leave a card 
upon her, so to speak, every morning. 

As we approached we were pleased to see her 
trim lord and master bearing in his mouth what 
was no doubt intended for a delicate offering to 
cheer her weary hours, for a gauzy yellow wing 
stuck out on each side of his beak, suggesting 
something uncommonly nice within. He stood 
a moment till we should pass, looking the picture 
of unconsciousness, and defying us to assert that 
he had a house and home anywhere about that 
tree. But when we did not pass, after hesitat- 
ingly hopping from perch to perch nearer the 
nest, he deliberately diverted yellow wing from 



132 A JUNE ROUND OF CALLS. 

its original destiny, swallowed it himself, and 
wiped his beak with an air that said : " There 
now! What can you make out o£ that?" 

Ashamed to have deprived the little sitter of 
her treat, we folded our stools and resumed our 
march. 

How shall one put into words the delights of 
the woods in June without "dropping into poe- 
try?" Does not our own native poet say: — 

*' Who speeds to the woodland walks ? 
To birds and trees who talks ? 
Caesar of his leafy Rome, 
There the poet is at home." 

But if one is not a poet, must he then suffer 
and enjoy in silence? When he puts aside the 
leafy portiere and enters the cool green paradise 
of the trees, must he be dumb ? Slowly, almost 
solemnly, we walked up the beautiful road with 
its carpet of dead leaves. It was as silent of 
man's ways as if he were not within a thousand 
miles, and we had all the enjoyment of the deep 
forest, with the comforting assurance that five 
minutes' walk would bring us to people. 

A small family in dark slate-color and white, 
with a curious taste for the antique cave -dwell- 
ing, was next on our list. The home was an ex- 
cavation in the soft earth, held together by the 
roots of an overturned tree, and everything was 
quiet when we arrived — the two well -grown in- 



THE JUNCO FAMILY. 133 

fants sound asleep on their hair mattress. Yv^e 
sat down to wait, and in a moment we heard the 
anxious "pip " of the returning parents. They 
had been attending to their regular morning 
work, and both brought food for those young- 
sters, who woke inopportunely — as babies will 
— and demanded it instantly. 

Junco — for he was the head of this house- 
hold — paused on a twig near by, opened and 
shut his beautiful white-bordered tail, in the 
embarrassing consideration whether he should 
go in before our eyes and take the risk of our 
intentions, or let his evidently starving offspring 
suffer. He "eyed us over;" he waited till his 
modest little spouse, acting from feeling rather 
than from judgment (as was to be expected from 
one of her unreasoning sex), had slipped in from 
below, administered her morsel to those precious 
bp.bies, and escaped unharmed. Then he plucked 
up courage, boldly entered his door, gave a poke 
behind it, and flew away. 

A week later, after we had called as usual one 
morning and found the house empty, he brought 
his pretty snow-birdlings in their tidy striped 
bibs up to the grove at the back door, where we 
often heard his sharp trilling little song, and 
saw him working like some bigger papas to keep 
the dear clamorous mouths filled. 

The Junco neighborhood was a populous part 



134 A JUNE ROUND OF CALLS. 

of our calling district. Behind liis cave, in a 
high tree, lived a family of golden -winged wood- 
peckers, who ''laughed" and talked as loud as 
they liked, scorning to look upon the two spies 
so far below them. Not quite so self-possessed 
and bold were they a little later, when madam 
came up to the grass by the farmhouse with her 
young son to teach him to dig, for that is what 
she did. He was a canny youngster, though he 
was shy, and had no notion of being left in the 
lurch for a moment. If mamma flew to the 
fence, he instantly followed ; did she return to 
the ground, baby was in a second at her side 
demanding attention. On one occasion while I 
was watching them behind my blind, the mother 
managed to slip away from him and disappear. 
In a moment he realized his deserted condition, 
stretched up, like a lost chicken, looking about 
on every side, and calling, in a most plaintive 
tone, "pe-au ! au!" and then, "au! au! pe- 
au!" When at length he saw his mother, he 
burst into a loud cry of delight, and flew into a 
locust-tree, where I heard for a long time low 
complaining cries, as if he reproached her for 
leaving her baby alone on the fence. 

On the right of the home of the golden wings, 
in a sapling not more than five feet from the 
ground, was the residence of a gay little red- 
start, which we had watched almost from the 



THE BUGABOO OF THE WOODS, 135 

laying of the foundations. We made our visit. 
Yesterday there were two pearls of promise 
within; to-day, alas! nothing. 

Squirrels, we said ; for those beasts were the 
bugaboo of the woods to its feathered inhabi- 
tants. Hardly a nest was so high, so well hid- 
den, or so closely watched, but some unlucky 
day a little fellow — sportsman, would you call 
him? — in gray or red fur, would find his 
chance, and make his breakfast on next year's 
song birds. 

Musing on this and other tragedies among our 
friends, we silently turned to the next neighbor. 
At this door we could knock, and we always did. 
(We desired to be civil when circumstances per- 
mitted.) A rap or two on the dead trunk 
brought hastily to the door, twenty -five feet high, 
a small head, with a bright red cap and necktie, 
and eager, questioning eyes. Observing that he 
had guests, he came out, showing his black and 
white coat. But one glance was usually enough ; 
he declined to entertain us, and instantly took 
his leave. We knew him well, however — the 
yellow-bellied woodpecker, or "sapsucker," as 
he was called in the vicinity. This morning we 
did not need to knock, for one of the family was 
already outside, — a young woodpecker, clinging 
to the bark, and dressing his nest-ruffled plum- 
age for the grand performance, his first flight. 



136 A JUNE ROUND OF CALLS, 

We resolved at once to assist at the debut, 
secured reserved seats with a good view, and 
seated ourselves to wait. 

Didst ever, dear reader, sit in one position on 
a camp-stool without a back, with head thrown 
back, and eyes fixed upon one small bird thirty 
feet from the ground, afraid to move or turn 
your eyes, lest you miss what you are waiting 
for, while the sun moves steadily on till his hot- 
test rays pour through some opening directly 
upon you ; while mosquitoes sing about your ears 
(would that they sang only !), and flies buzz nois- 
ily before your face ; while birds flit past, and 
strange notes sound from behind ; while rustling 
in the dead leaves at your feet suggests snakes, 
and a crawling on your neck proclaims spiders? 
If you have not, you can never appreciate the 
enthusiasms of a bird student, nor realize what 
neck -breaks and other discomforts one will cheer- 
fully endure to witness the first flight of a nest- 
ling. 

This affair turned out, however, as in many 
another case of great expectations, to be no 
remarkable performance. When the debutant 
had made his toilet, he flew, as if he had done 
it all his life, to the next tree, where he began 
at once to call for refreshment, after his exer- 
tion. 

Disappointed, we dropped our eyes, whisked 



A CUCKOO'S HOUSEKEEPING. 137 

away our insect tormentors, gathered up our 
properties, and passed on our way. 

This was the farthest point of our wanderings. 
The way back was through a narrow path beside 
the oven-bird's pretty domed nest, then between 
the tangle of wild-berry bushes and saplings, 
where a cuckoo had set up housekeeping, and 
where veeries and warblers had successfully hid- 
den their nests, tantalizing us with calls and 
songs from morning till night; from thence 
through this garden, past the kitchen door, home. 



XIV. 

A BOBOLINK RHAPSODY. 

Can anything be more lovely than a meadow 
in June, its tall grass overtopped by daisies, 
whose open faces, 

" Candid and simple and nothing"- withholding and free, 
Publish themselves to the sky ' ' ? 

One such I knew, despised of men as a meadow, 
no doubt, but glorious to the eye with its un- 
broken stretch of white bowing before the sum- 
mer breeze like the waves of the sea, and charm- 
ing as well to pewee and kingbird who hovered 
over it, ever and anon diving and bringing up 
food for the nestlings. When, to a meadow not 
so completely abandoned to daisies, where but- 
tercups and red clover flourish among the grass, 
is added the music of the meadow's poet, the 
bobolink, surely nothing is lacking to its per- 
fection. 

Passing such a field one evening, I noted the 
babble of bobolinks, too far off to hear well, and 
the next day I set out down another path which 
passed through the meadow, to cultivate the ac- 
quaintance of the birds. It was a warm sum- 



A STRANGE CBY. 139 

mer morning, near the middle of June, and 
when I reached the spot not a bobolink was in 
sight; but I sought a convenient bank under an 
old apple-tree, made myself as inconspicuous as 
possible, and waited. With these birds, how- 
ever, as I soon found out, my precautions were 
unnecessary. They are not chary of their music ; 
on the contrary, they appear to sing directly to 
a spectator, and they are too confident of the se- 
curity of the nest to be disturbed about that. In 
a moment a black head with its buff cap ap- 
peared at the top of a grass stem, and instantly 
the black body, with its grotesque white decora- 
tion, followed. The bird flew half a dozen feet, 
singing as he went, as if the movement of the 
wings set the music going, alighted a little nearer, 
sang again, and finally, concluding that here 
was something to be looked after, a human 
being, such as he was accustomed to see pass by, 
taking possession of a part of the bobolink do- 
main, he flew boldly to a small tree a few yards 
from me. He alighted on the top twig, in plain 
sight, and proceeded to ''look me over," a per- 
formance which I returned with interest. He 
was silent only a few seconds, but the sound 
that came from his beak amazed me ; it was a 
"mew." If the cat-bird cry resembles that of a 
cat, this was a perfect copy of a kitten's weak 
wail. It was always uttered twice in close 



140 A BOBOLINK RHAPSODY. 

succession, and sometimes followed by a harsh 
note that proclaimed his blackbird strain, a 
''chack!" 

His utterance was thus : "mew, mew (quick- 
ly), chack !" and I interpreted it into a warning 
to me to leave the premises. I did not go, how- 
ever, and after several repetitions his vigilance 
began to relax. He was really so full of sweet 
summer madness that it was impossible to keep 
up the role of stern guardian of the nests under 
the veil of buttercups and daisies, which he knew 
all the time I could never find. So, when he 
opened his mouth to say "chack," a note or two 
would irresistibly bubble out beside it, as if he 
said, "You really must go away, my big friend. 
We cannot have you in our fields ; — but, after 
all, is n't the morning delicious? " 

After a long conflict between desire to sing 
and his conviction of duty as special policeman, 
which ludicrously suggested Mr. Dick in his 
struggle between longing to be foolish with 
David Copperfield and to be grave to please 
Miss Betsy, he fairly gave in and did sing — 
and such a burst! Everybody has tried his 
hand at characterizing this bird's incomparable 
song, but no one has fully expressed it, for 
words are not capable of it. Perhaps Mrs. 
Spofford has caught the spirit as well as any 
one: — 



FLOODS OF MUSIC, 141 

" Last year me thinks the bobolinks 
Filled the low fields with vagrant tune, 
The sweetest songs of sweetest June — 
Wild spurts of frolic, always gladly 
Bubbling, doubling, brightly troubling, 
Bubbling rapturously, ma-dly." 

Expressing himself was so great a relief to 
my bobolink, after his unnatural gravity of de- 
meanor, that he repeated the performance again 
and again. I say repeated it ; I found that he 
had two ways of beginning, but after he got into 
his ecstasy I could think of nothing but how 
marvelous it was, so that whether the two dif- 
fered all through I am not sure. It was every 
time a new rapture to me as well as to him. 
One of his beginnings that I had time to note 
before I was lost in the flood of melody was of 
two notes, the second a fifth higher than the 
first, with a "grace-note," very low indeed, be- 
fore each one. The other beginning was also 
two notes, the second at least a fifth lower than 
the first, with an indescribable jerk between, 
and uttered so softly that if I had been a little 
further away I could not have heard it. It 
sounded like ""tut, now." 

Seeing that I remained motionless, the bird 
forgot altogether his uncongenial occupation of 
watchman, and launched himself into the air 
toward me, soaring round and round me, letting 
fall such a flood, such a torrent, of liquid notes 



142 A BOBOLINK RHAPSODY, 

tliat I thought half a dozen were singing, — and 
then dropped into the grass. Soon others ap- 
peared here and there, and sang it mattered not 
how or where, — soaring or beating the wings, 
on a grass stem, the top of a tree, hidden in 
the grass, or rudely rocked by the wind, they 
"sang and sang and sang." 

Then for a while all was still. A turkey lead- 
ing her fuzzy little brood about in the grass thrust 
her scrawny neck and anxious head above the 
daisies, said "quit! quit! " to me, and returned 
to the brooding mother-tones that kept her fam- 
ily around her. Tiring of my position while 
waiting for the concert to resume, I laid my 
head back among the ferns, letting the daisies 
and buttercups tower above my face, — strangely 
enough, by this simple act realizing as never be- 
fore the real motherhood of the earth. 

While I lay musing, lo, a sudden burst of 
music above my head I A bobolink sailed over 
my face, not three feet from it, singing his mer- 
riest, and then dropped into the grass behind me. 
Oh, never did I so much wish for eyes in the 
back of my head ! He must be almost within 
touch, yet I dared not move; doubtless I was 
under inspection by that keen dark eye, for the 
first movement sent him away with a whir. 

My next visitors were a small flock of six or 
eight cedar -birds, who were seriously disturbed 



A SQUIRREL'S PANIC. 143 

by my choice of a couch. Evidently the green 
tent above my head was their chosen tree, and 
they could not give it up. Finding me perfectly 
silent, they would come, perch in various parts 
of the branches, and turn their wise-looking 
black spectacles down to look at me, keeping up 
an animated conversation the while. We call 
the cedar-bird silent because he has, as generally 
supposed, but one low note ; but he can put into 
that one an almost infinite variety of expres- 
sions. If I so much as moved a hand, instantly 
my Quaker-clad friends dived off the tree below 
the bank across the road, as if, in their despair, 
they had flung themselves madly into the brook 
at the bottom. But I did not suspect them of 
so rash an act, and, indeed, in a few minutes 
the apple-tree again resounded with their cries. 

Meanwhile the sun marched relentlessly on, 
and the shadows without and the feelings within 
alike pointed to the dinner hour (12 M.). I 
rose, and thereby created a panic in my small 
world. Six cedar-birds disappeared over the 
bank, a song sparrow flew shrieking across the 
field, a squirrel interrupted in his investigations 
fled madly along the rail fence, every few steps 
stopping an instant, with hindquarters laid flat 
and tail resting on the rail, to see if his head 
was still safe on his shoulders. 

I gathered up my belongings and sauntered 



144 A BOBOLINK B HAP SOD Y. 

off toward home, musing, as I went, upon the 
bobolink family. I had not once seen or heard 
the little mates. Were they busy in the grass 
with bobolink babies? and did they enjoy the 
music as keenly as I did? How much I "wanted 
to know ' ' ! How I should like to see the nests 
and the nestlings ! What sort of a father is the 
gay singer? (Some of the blackbird family are 
exemplary in this relation.) Does he drop his 
part of poet, of reveler of the meadows, I won- 
der, and come down to the sober prose of stuff- 
ing baby mouths? Are bobolinks always this 
jolly, delightful crowd? Are they never quarrel- 
some? Alas! it would take much more than 
one day, however sunny and however long, to 
tell all these things. 

At the edge of the meadow I sat dowai again, 
hoping for one more song, and then came the 
crown of the whole morning, the choicest re- 
served for the last. A bird sailed out from 
behind the daisies, passed over my head, and de- 
livered the most bewitching rhapsody I had yet 
heard. Not merely once did he honor me, but 
again and again without pausing, as if he in- 
tended to fill me as full of bobolink rapture as 
he was himself. His voice was peculiarly rich 
and full, and, what amazed me, his first three 
notes were an exact reproduction of the wood- 
thrush's (though more rapidly sung), including 



THE FINEST AT LAST. 145 

the marvelous organ-like quality of that bird's 
voice. I could have listened forever. 

" Oh, what have I to do with time ? 
For this the day was made.' ' 

But when he had uttered his message he sank 
bact into the grass, and I tore myself away from 
the bobolink meadow, and came home far richer 
and far happier than when I set out. 



THE bobolink's NESTo 

My acquaintance with the bobolink was re- 
sumed a year later in the lovely summer home 
of a friend in the Black River Country, within 
sight of the Adirondack hills. We had found 
many nests in the woods and orchards, but the 
meadow had been safe from our feet, partly 
because of the rich crops that covered it, but 
more, perhaps, because of the hopelessness of 
the search over the broad fields for anything so 
easily hidden as a ground nest. 

One evening, however, our host with a trium- 
phant air invited us to walk, declaring that he 
could show us a nest more interesting than we 
had found. 

The gentleman was a joker, and his state- 
ments were apt to be somewhat embellished by 
his vivid imagination, so that we accepted them 
with caution; but now he looked exultant, and 
we believed him, especially as he took his hat 
and stick and started off. 

Down the road we went, a single carriage-way 
between two banks of grass a yard high. After 



THE NEST IN THE GRASS. 147 

carefully taking his bearings by certain small 
elm-trees, and searching diligently about for an 
inconspicuous dead twig he had planted as a 
guide-post, our leader confidently waded into 
the green depths, parted the stalks in a certain 
spot, and bade us look. 

We did. In a cosy cup, almost under our 
feet, were cuddled together three bird-babies. 

"Bobolinks?" we cried in a breath. 

"Yes, bobolinks," said our guide; "and you 
had to wait for an old half -blind man to find 
them for you." 

We were too much delighted to be annoyed 
by his teasing; a bobolink's nest we never 
hoped to see. 

Nor should we, but for a discovery of mine 
that very morning. Walking down that same 
road, I had noticed in the deep grass near the 
path a clump of exquisite wild flowers. They 
were of gorgeous coloring, shaded from deep 
orange to rich yellow, full petaled like an Eng- 
lish daisy, and about the size of that flower, with 
the edge of every tiny petal cut in fairy-like 
fringe. I admired them for some minutes as 
they grew, and then gathered a handful to grace 
my room. As I came up to the house, my host 
stood on the steps ; his eyes fell at once upon my 
nosegay, and a look of horror came into his face. 

My heart sank. Had I unwittingly picked 



148 THE BOBOLINKS NEST, 

some of his special treasures, some rare exotic 
which he had cultivated with care ? 

''Where did you find that stuff?" he de- 
manded. I was instantly relieved; no man will 
call a treasure "stuff." 

"In the meadow," I answered. "What is 
it?" 

"You must show me the exact spot," he said, 
emphatically. "I shall have a man out at once, 
to get it up, root and branch. It 's the devil's 
paintbrush." 

"Then his majesty has good taste in color," 
I said. 

"That stuff," he went on, "spreads like wild- 
fire. It '11 eat up my meadow in a year." 

I turned back and showed him the spot from 
which my flowers had come, pointing out at the 
same time two or three other clumps I could see 
farther out in the waving green sea, and before 
long his farmer and he were very busy over them. 

Now it appeared that in tramj)ing about the 
deep grass, where we bird-students dared not 
set our feet, he had nearly stepped on a bobo- 
link, who flew, and thus pointed out her nest ; 
and he had taken its bearings with the intention 
of putting us to shame. 

We looked long at the tiny trio so compactly 
packed in their cradle, till they awoke and de- 
manded supplies. Then we carefully replanted 



IN THE CRADLE, 149 

the dead stick, taking its exact bearings be- 
tween three trees, drew a few grass-stems to- 
gether in a braid at the naargin so that we should 
not lose what we had so accidentally gained, and 
then we left them. ^ 

During this inspection of the nest, the "poet 
of the year " and his spouse were perched on two 
neighboring trees, utterly unmoved by our move- 
ments. They were, no doubt, so perfectly con- 
fident of the security of the hiding-place that it 
never occurred to them even to look to see what 
we three giants were doing. At least, such we 
judged were their sentiments by the change in 
their manners somewhat later, when they thought 
we were likely to make discoveries. 

The meadow itself had been our delight for 
weeks. When we arrived, in the beginning of 
June, it was covered with luxuriant clumps of 
blue violets, and great bunches of blue-eyed 
grass that one might gather by the handful at 
one picking. Later the higher parts were 
thickly sprinkled with white where 

'^ Gracefully as does the fawn, 
Sweet Marguerites their dainty heads uphold," 

while the hollows were golden with buttercups. 
Then the grass under the warm June sun 
stretched up inch by inch till it was three or four 
feet high and very thick. Meanwhile a bobo- 
link or two, and as many meadow-larks had 



150 THE BOBOLINK'S NEST, 

taken possession of it, and it was made still 
richer by the sweet minor strains of the lark, 
and the song of the bird who, 

*'like the soul 
Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, 
Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what." 

The evening after our humiliation — which 
we lost sight of in our joy — we returned to the 
charmed spot, parted again the sweet grass cur- 
tains and gazed down at the baby bobolinks, 
while the parents perched on two trees as before 
and paid not the smallest attention to us. 

We passed on down the road to the gate where 
we could look into a neighboring pasture and 
watch for a pair of red -headed woodpeckers 
who lived in that pleasant place, and catch the 
reflection of the sunset in the northern sky. 
While we lingered there, I looked with my glass 
back at the bobolinks, and chanced to see Bobby 
himself in the act of diving into the grass. 
When he came out he seemed to notice me, and 
instantly began trying to mislead me. 

He came up boldly, flew to another spot where 
a weed lifted its head above the green, and 
dropped into the grass exactly as though he was 
going to the nest; then he rose again, repeated 
his tactics, pausing every time he came out and 
calling, as if to say, " This is my home ; if you 're 
looking for a nest, here it is ! " His air was so 



BOBOLINK WILES. 151 

business-like that it would naturally deceive one 
not possessed of our precious secret, the real 
spot where his three babies were cradled, and 
one might easily be led all over the meadow by 
the wily fellow. 

For six successive days we paid our short vis- 
its, and found the nestlings safe. They did not 
seem to mature very fast, though they came to 
look up at us, and open their mouths for food. 
But on the seventh day there was a change in 
Master Robert's behavior. On the afternoon of 
this day, wishing to observe their habits more 
closely, I found a seat under a tree at some dis- 
tance, not near enough, as I thought, to disturb 
them. 

I did disturb them sorely, however, as in- 
stantly appeared. The calmness they had shown 
during all the days we had been looking at the 
nest was gone, and they began to scold at once. 
The head of the family berated me from the top 
of a grass-stem, and then flew to a tall old stump, 
and put me under the closest surveillance, con- 
stantly uttering a queer call like ^'Chack-que- 
dle-la," jerking wings and tail, and in everyway 
showing that he considered me intrusive and al- 
together toQ much interested in his family affairs. 
I admitted the charge, I could not deny it ; but 
I did not retire. 

At last he apparently determined to insist 



152 THE BOBOLINK'S NEST. 

upon my going, for he started from his high 
perch directly toward me. Swiftly and with all 
his force he flew, and about twenty feet from me 
swooped down so that I thought he would cer- 
tainly strike my face. I instinctively dodged, 
and he passed over, so near that the wind from 
his wings fanned my face. This was a hint I 
could not refuse to take. 1 left him, for the 
time. 

That evening when we went for our usual call, 
lo ! the nest was empty. At not more than seven 
or eight days of age, those precocious infants had 
started out in the world! That explained the 
conduct of the anxious papa in the afternoon, 
and I forgave him on the spot. I understood 
his fear that I should discover or step on his 
babies three, scattered and scrambling about 
under all that depth of grass. The abandoned 
homestead, which we carefully examined, proved 
to be merely a cup-shaped hollow in the ground, 
slightly protected by a thin lining. 

In a few days the wandering younglings were 
up in front of the house, where we could watch 
the parents drop into the grass with food; and 
where, of course, they were safe from anybody's 
intrusion. I had one more encounter with his 
lordship. After the young had been out a week 
or more, they seemed in their moving about to 
get back near to the old place. As I took my 



EXCITEMENT IN THE FAMILY. 153 

usual walk one evening, down the carriage drive 
to the gate, I found two pairs of bobolinks on 
one tree; the two mothers with food in their 
mouths, evidently intended for somebody down 
in the grass; and the two fathers, very much 
disturbed at my appearance. They greeted me 
with severe and reproving "chacks," and finally 
favored me with the most musical call I have 
heard from the sweet-voiced bird of the meadow. 
It was like "kee-lee! " in loud and rich tones, 
and it was many times repeated. 

I assured them that I had no wish to disturb 
their little ones ; though, if I had been able to 
lift the whole grassy cover to peep at the two 
small families hidden there, I fear I should have 
yielded to the temptation. 

Our bird had been somewhat erratic in mak- 
ing his home far from his fellows, — so social 
are these birds even in nesting-time; but now 
he was joined by more of his kind from the 
meadows below, and to the beautiful waving 
carpet of green, dotted here and there with great 
bunches of black-eyed Susans and devil's paint- 
brushes (what names!), and sprinkled all over 
with daisies, now beginning to look a little 
disheveled and wild, was added the tantalizing 
interest of dozens of little folk running about 
under its shelter. 

The next week broudit to the meadow what 



154 



THE BOBOLINK'S NEST. 



must seem from the bobolink point of view al- 
most the end of the world. Men and horses and 
great rattling machines, armed with sharp 
knives, which laid low every stem of grass and 
flower, and let the light of the sun in upon the 
haunts and the nests of the bobolink babies. 

Happily, however, not all the earth is meadow 
and subject to this annual catastrophe; and I 
think the whole flock took refuge^ in a pasture 
where they were safe from the hay-cutters, and 
had for neighbors only the cows and the crow 
babies. 



XVI. 

THE TANAGER'S NEST. 

One of the prettiest memory -pictures of my 
delightful June on the banks of the Black River 
is the nest of a scarlet tanager, placed as the 
keystone of one of Nature's exquisite living 
I arches. The path which led to it was almost as 
charming as the nest itself. Lifting a low-hang- 
ing branch of maple at the entrance to the 
woods, we took leave of the world and all its 
affairs, and stepped at once into a secluded 
path. Though so near the house, the woods 
were solitary, for they were private and very 
carefully protected. Passing up the rustic foot- 
path, under interlacing boughs of maple and 
beech, we came at length to a sunny open spot, 
where all winter grain is kept for partridges, 
squirrels, and other pensioners who may choose 
to come. From this little opening one road 
turned to the wild-berry field, where lived the 
cuckoo and the warblers; another opened an in- 
viting way into the deep woods ; a third went 
through the fernery. We took that, and passed 
on through a second lovely bit of wood, where 



156 THE TANAGER'S NEST, 

the ground was wet, and ferns of many kinds 
grew luxuriantly, and the walk was mostly over 
a dainty corduroy of minute moss -covered logs. 

At the end of the fernery are two ways. The 
first runs along the edge of the forest, whose 
outlying saplings hang ov^er and make a cool 
covered walk. Down this path I almost had an 
adventure one day. The morning was warm 
and I was alone. As I came out of this covered 
passage, beside an old stump, I noticed in a de- 
pression in the ground at my feet a squirming 
mass of fur. On looking closer I saw four or 
five little beasts rolling and scrambling over 
each other. They were as big, perhaps, as a 
month-old kitten, but they were a good deal 
more knowing than pussy's babies, for as I 
drew near they stopped their play and waited 
to see what would happen. I looked at them 
with eager interest. They were really beauti- 
ful ; black and white in stripes, with long bushy 
tails. Black and white, and so self-possessed ! — 
a thought struck me. "Mephitis," I gasped, 
and instantly put several feet more between us. 
So attractive and playful were they, however, 
that notwithstanding I feared it might be hard 
to convince their mamma, should she appear, of 
my amiable intentions, I could not resist another 
look. Calm as a summer morning walked off 
one of the mephitis babies, holding his pretty tail 



MEPHITIS BABIES AT PLAY. 157 

straight up like a kitten's, while the other four 
went on with their frolic in the grass. At this 
moment I heard a rustle in the dead leaves, and 
having no desire to meet their grown-up rela- 
tives, I left in so great haste that I took the 
wrong path, and finally lost myself for a time in 
a tangle of wild raspberry bushes, whose long 
arms reached out on every side to scratch the 
face and hands or catch the dress of the unwary 
passer-by. 

The other of the two ways spoken of was a 
road, soft-carpeted with dead leaves. To reach 
the tanager's nest we took that, and came, a 
little further on, to a big log half covered 
with growing fungi and laid squarely across the 
passage. This was the fungus log, another 
landmark for the wanderer unfamiliar with 
these winding ways. On this, if I were alone, 
I always rested awhile to get completely into 
the woods spirit, for this is the heart of the 
woods, with nothing to be seen on any side but 
trees. Cheerful, pleasant woods they are, of 
sunny beech, birch, maple, and butternut, with 
branches high above our heads, and a far outlook 
under the trees in every direction. There is no 
gloom such as evergreens make; no barricade 
of dark impenetrable foliage, behind which 
might lurk anything one chose to imagine, from 
a grizzly bear to an equally unwelcome tramp. 



158 THE TANAGEB'S NEST. 

In this lovely spot come together four roads 
and a path, and to the pilgrim from cities they 
seem like paths into paradise. That on the right 
leads by a roundabout way to the '^ corner," 
where one may see the sunset. The next, straight 
in front, is the passage to the nest of the winter 
wren. The far left invites one to a wild tangle 
of fallen trees and undergrowth, where veeries 
sing, and enchanting but maddening warblers 
lure the bird-lover on, to scramble over logs, 
wade into swamps, push through chaotic masses 
of branches, and, while using both hands to make 
her way, incidentally offer herself a victim to 
the thirsty inhabitants whose stronghold it is. 
All this in a vain search for some atom of a bird 
that doubtless sits through the whole, calmly 
perched on the topmost twig of the tallest tree, 
shielded by a leaf, and pours out the tantalizing 
trill that draws one like a magnet. 

Between this road and the wren's highway a 
path runs upward. It is narrow, and guarded 
at the opening by a mossy log to be stepped 
over, but it is most alluring. Up that route we 
go. On the left as we pass we notice two beau- 
tiful nests in saplings, so low that we can look 
in; redstarts both, and nearly always we find 
madam at home. We pass on, step over a sec- 
ond mossy log, pause a moment to glance at a 
vireo's hanging cradle on the right, and arrive 



THE TANAGER SHOWS US THE NEST, 159 

at length at a crossing road, on the other side of 
which our path goes on, with a pile of logs like 
a stile to go over. Over the logs we step, walk 
a rod or two further, stop beside the blackened 
trunk of a fallen tree, turn our faces to the left, 
and behold the nest. 

Before us is one of nature's arches. A maple 
sapling, perhaps fifteen feet high, has in some 
way been bowed till its top touched the ground 
and became fastened there, a thing often seen 
in these woods. Thus diverted from its original 
destiny of growing into a tree, it has kept its 
"sweetness and light," sent out leaves and twigs 
through all its length, and become one of the 
most beautiful things in the woods — a living 
arch. Just in the middle of this exquisite bow, 
five feet above the ground, is the tanager's nest, 
well shielded by leaves. We never should have 
found it if the little fellow in scarlet had not 
made so much objection to our going up this 
particular passage that we suspected him of hav- 
ing a secret in this quarter. He went ahead of 
us from tree to tree, keeping an eye on us, and 
calling, warily, "chip-chur!" When we sat 
down a few moments to see what all the fuss 
was about, we saw his spouse in her modest 
dress of olive green on a low branch. She, too, 
uttered the cry ''chip-ehur !" and seemed dis- 
turbed by our call. Looking around for the 



160 THE TANAGEB'S NEST. 

object of their solicitude, our eyes fell at the 
same instant on the nest. We dared not speak, 
but an ecstatic glance from my comrade, with a 
hand laid on her heart to indicate her emotions, 
announced that our hopes were fulfilled; it was 
the nest we were seeking. 

The birds, seeing that we meant to stay, flew 
away after a while, and we hastened to secrete 
ourselves before they should return, by pla- 
cing our camp-stools in a thick growth of sap- 
lings just higher than our heads. We crowned 
ourselves with fresh leaves, not as conquerors, 
though such we felt ourselves, but as a disguise 
to hide our heads. We daubed our faces here 
and there with an odorous (not to say odious) 
preparation warranted to discourage too great 
familiarity on the part of the residents already 
established in that spot. We subsided into 
silence. 

The birds returned, but were still wary. As 
before, the male perched high and kept a sharp 
eye out on the country around, and I have no 
doubt soon espied us in our retreat. Madam 
again tried to ''screw her courage up" to visit 
that nest. Nearer and nearer she came, paus- 
ing at every step, looking around and calling to 
her mate to make sure he was near. At last, 
just as she seemed about to take the last step 
and go in, and we were waiting breathless for 



THE BOG'S SNEEZE, 161 

her to do it, a terrific sound broke the silence. 
The big dog, protector and constant companion 
of my fellow-student, overcome by the torment 
of mosquitoes, and having no curiosity about 
tanagers to make him endure them, had yielded 
to his emotions and sneezed. Away went the 
tanager family, and, laughing at the absurd acci- 
dent, away we went too, happy at having dis- 
covered the nest, and planning to come the next 
day. We came next day, and many days there- 
after, but never again did we see the birds near. 
They abandoned the nest, doubtless feeling that 
they had been driven away by a convulsion of 
nature. 

One day, somewhat later, in the winter wren's 
quarter, where there were pools left by a heavy 
rain, we met them again. Madam was bathing, 
and her husband accompanied her as guard and 
protector. They flew away together. All of 
June we heard him sing, and we often followed 
him, but never again did we surprise a secret of 
his, till the very last day of the month. We 
had been making a visit to our veery nests, and 
on our way back noticed that the tanager was 
more than usually interested in our doings. He 
seemed very busy too, with the air of a person 
of family. While we were watching to see 
what it meant, he caught a flying insect and 
held it in his mouth. Then we knew he had lit- 



162 THE TANAGER'S NEST. 

tie folk to feed, so we seated ourselves on the 
fungus log, and waited for him to point one 
out. He did. He could not resist giving that 
delicate morsel to his first-born. With many 
wary approaches, he dropped at last into the 
scanty undergrowth, and there, a foot above the 
ground, we saw the young tanager. He was a 
little dumpling of a fellow, with no hint in his 
baby-suit of the glory that shall clothe him by and 
by. But where was the mother ? and where had 
they nested? But for that untimely sneeze, as I 
shall always believe, they would have made their 
home in that beautiful nest on the arch, and we 
should have been there to see. 



XVII. 

THE WILES OF A WARBLER. 

" Hark to that petulant chirp ! What ails the warbler ? 
Mark his capricious ways to draw the eye." 

We called him the blue, but that was not his 
whole name by any means. Fancy a scientist 
with a new bird to label, contenting himself 
with one word ! His whole name is — or was 
till lately — black-throated blue-backed warbler, 
or Dendroica ccerulescens^ and that being fairly 
set down for future reference for whom it may 
concern, I shall call him henceforth, as we did 
in the woods, the blue. 

For a day or two at first he was to us, like 
many another of his size, only a "wandering 
voice." But it was an enticing voice, a sweet- 
toned succession of z-z-z in ascending scale, and 
it was so persistent that when we really made 
the attempt, we had no trouble in getting sight 
of the little beauty hardly bigger than one's 
thumb. He was a wary little sprite, and though 
he looked down upon us as we turned opera - 
glasses toward him, — a battery that puts some 
birds into a panic, — he was not alarmed. He 



164 THE WILES OF A WARBLER. 

probably made up his mind then and there, that 
it should be his special business to keep us away 
from his nest, for really that seemed to be his 
occupation. No sooner did we set foot in the 
woods than his sweet song attracted us. We 
followed it, and he, carelessly as it seemed, but 
surely, led us on around and around, always in 
a circle without end. 

My fellow bird -student became fairly be- 
witched, and could not rest till she found his 
nest. For my part I gave up the warbler fam- 
ily long ago, as too small, too uneasy, too fond 
of tree-tops, to waste time and patience over. In 
these her native woods, my comrade led in our 
walks, and the moment we heard his tantalizing 
Z'Z-z she turned irresistibly toward it. I fol- 
lowed, of course, happy to be anywhere under 
these trees. 

One morning she tracked him inch by inch till 
she was fortunate enough to trace him to a wild 
corner in the woods given up to a tangle of 
fallen trees, saplings, and other growth. She 
went home happy, sure she was on the trail. 
The next day we turned our steps to that quarter 
and penetrated the jungle till we reached a mod- 
erately clear spot facing an impenetrable mass 
of low saplings. There we took our places, to 
wait with what patience we might for the blue. 

Our lucky star was in the ascendant that day, 



THE WARBLER DELIGHTED, 165 

for we had not been there three minutes before 
a small, inconspicuous bird dropped into the 
bushes a few feet from us. My friend's eye fol- 
lowed her, and in a second fell upon the nest the 
little creature was lining, in a low maple about 
two feet from the ground. 

But who was she ? For it is one of the diffi- 
culties about nests, that the brightly-colored 
male, whom one knows so well, is very sure not 
to show himself in the neighborhood, and his 
spouse is certain to look just like everybody else. 
However, there is always some mark by which 
we may know, and as soon as the watcher se- 
cured a good look she announced in an excited 
whisper, "We have it ! a female blue, building." 

So it proved to be, and we planted our seats 
against trees for backs, and arranged ourselves 
to stay. The dog seeing this preparation, and 
recognizing it as somewhat permanent, with a 
heavy sigh laid himself out full length, and 
composed himself to sleep. 

The work over that nest was one of the pret- 
tiest bits of bird-life I ever watched. Never 
was a scrap of a warbler, a mere pinch of feath- 
ers, so perfectly delighted with anything as she 
with that dear little homestead of hers. It was 
pretty ; it looked outside like the dainty hang- 
ing cradle of a vireo, but instead of being sus- 
pended from a horizontal forked twig, it was 



166 THE WILES OF A WARBLER. 

held in an upright fork made by four twigs of 
the sapling. 

The little creature's body seemed too small to 
hold her joy; she simply could not bring her 
mind to leave it. She rushed off a short dis- 
tance and brought some infinitesimal atom of 
something not visible to our coarse sight, but 
very important in hers. This she arranged care- 
fully, then slipped into the nest and moulded it 
into place by pressing her breast against it and 
turning around. 

Thus she worked for some time, and then 
seemed to feel that her task was over, at least 
for the moment. Yet she could not tear herself 
away. She flew six inches away, then instantly 
came back and got into the nest, trying it this 
way and that. Then she ran up a stem, and in 
a moment down again, trying that nest in a new 
way, from a fresh point of view. This perform- 
ance went on a long time, and we found it as 
impossible to leave as she did ; we were as com- 
pletely charmed with her ingenuous and bewitch- 
ing manners as she was with her new home. 

Well indeed was it that we stayed that morn- 
ing and enriched ourselves with the beautiful 
picture of bird ways, for like many another fair 
promise of the summer it came to naught. 

We had not startled her, she had not ob- 
served us at all, nor been in the least degree 



THE DOG INSISTED UPON ATTENTION. 167 

hindered in her work by our silent presence, 
twenty feet away and half hidden by her leafy 
screen. But the next day she was not there. 
After we had waited half an hour, my friend 
could no longer resist a siren voice that had 
lured us for days (and was never traced home, 
by the way). I offered to wait for the little 
blue while she sought her charmer. 

We were near the edge of the woods, and she 
was obliged to pass through part of a pasture 
where sheep were kept. Her one terror about 
her big dog was that he should take to making 
himself disagreeable among sheep, when she 
knew his days would be numbered, so she told 
him to stay with me. He had risen when she 
started, and he looked a little dubious, but sat 
down again, and she went away. 

He watched her so long as she could be seen 
and then turned to me for comfort. He came 
close and laid his big head on my lap to be 
petted. I patted his head and praised him a 
while, and then wished to be relieved. But 
flattery was sweet to his ears, and the touch of 
a hand to his brow, — he declined to be put 
away; on the contrary he demanded constant 
repetition of the agreeable sensations. If I 
stopped, he laid his heavy head across my arm, 
in a way most uncomfortable to one not accus- 
tomed to dogs. These methods not availing, he 



168 THE WILES OF A WARBLER. 

sat up close beside me, when he came nearly to 
my shoulder and leaned heavily against me, his 
head resting against my arm in a most sentimen- 
tal attitude. 

At last finding that I would not be coaxed or 
forced into devoting myself wholly to his enter- 
tainment, he rose with dignity, and walked off 
in the direction his mistress had gone, paying 
no more attention to my commands or my coax- 
ings than if I did not exist. If I would not do 
what he wished, and pay the price of his society, 
he would not do what I asked. I was, there- 
fore, left alone. 

I was perfectly quiet. My dress was a dull 
woods tint, carefully selected to be inconspicu- 
ous, and I was motionless. No little dame ap- 
peared, but I soon became aware of the pleasing 
sound of the blue himself. It drew nearer, and 
suddenly ceased. Cautiously, without moving, 
I looked up. My eyes fell upon the little 
beauty peering down upon me. I scarcely 
breathed while he came nearer, at last directly 
over my head, silent, and plainly studying me. 
I shall always think his conclusion was unfavor- 
able, that he decided I was dangerous; and I, 
who never lay a finger on an egg or a nest in 
use, had to suffer for the depredations of the 
race to which I belong. The pretty nest so 
doted upon by its little builder was never occu- 



BABIES SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES. 169 

pied, and the winsome song of the warbler came 
from another part of the wood. 

We found him, indeed, so often near this 
particular place, a worse tangle, if possible, than 
the other, that we suspected they had set up their 
household gods here. Many times did my friend 
and her dog work their way through it, while I 
waited outside, and considered the admirable 
tactics of the wary warbler. The search was 
without result. 

Weeks passed, but though other birds inter- 
ested us, and filled our days with pleasure, my 
comrade never ceased longing to find the elusive 
nest of that blue warbler, and our revenge came 
at last. Nests may be deserted, little brown 
spouses may be hidden under green leaves, home- 
steads may be so cunningly placed that one can- 
not find them, but baby birds cannot be con- 
cealed. They will speak for themselves; they 
will get out of the nest before they can fly; they 
will scramble about, careless of being seen ; and 
such is the devotion of parents that they must 
and will follow all these vagaries, and thus give 
their precious secret to whoever has eyes to see. 

One day I came alone into the woods, and as 
I reached a certain place, sauntering along in 
perfect silence, I evidently surprised somebody, 
for I was saluted by low ''smacks " and I caught 
glimpses of two birds who dived into the jewel- 



170 THE WILES OF A WARBLEB. 

weed and disappeared. A moment later I saw 
the blue take flight a little farther off, and soon 
his song burst out, calm and sweet as though he 
had never been surprised in his life. 

I walked slowly on up the road, for this was 
one of the most enchanting spots in the woods, 
to birds as well as to bird -lovers. Here the 
cuckoo hid her brood till they could fly. In 
this retired corner the tawny thrush built her 
nest, and the hermit filled its aisles with music, 
while on the trespass notices hung here, the yel- 
low-bellied woodpecker drummed and signaled. 
It was filled with interest and with pleasant 
memories, and I lingered here for some time. 

Then as the road led me still farther away, I 
turned back. Coming quietly, again I sur- 
prised the blue family and was greeted in the 
same manner as before. They had slipped back 
in silence during my absence, and the young 
blues were, doubtless, at that moment running 
about under the weeds. 

Thus we found our warbler, the head of a 
family, hard at work as any sparrow, feeding 
a beloved, but somewhat scraggy looking, 
youngster, the feeble likeness of himself. 
There, too, we found the little brown mamma, 
the same, as we suppose, whose nest-building 
we had watched with so much interest. She 
also had a youngster under her charge. But 



FAVORITISM IN THE FAMILY, 171 

how was this ! a brown baby clad like herself ! 
Could it be that the sons and daughters of this 
warbler family outrage all precedent by wearing 
their grown-up dress in the cradle? We con- 
sulted the authorities and found our conclusion 
was correct. 

Henceforth we watched with greater interest 
than before. Every day that we came into the 
woods we saw the little party of four, always 
near together, scrambling about under the sap- 
lings or among the jewel- weed, or running over 
the tangled branches of a fallen tree, the two 
younger calling in sharp little voices for food, 
and the elders bustling about on low trees to 
find it. 

We soon noticed that there was favoritism in 
the family. Papa fed only the little man, while 
mamma fed the little maid, though she too 
sometimes stuffed a morsel into the mouth of 
her son. Let us hope that by this arrangement 
both babies are equally fed, and not, as is often 
the case, the most greedy secures the greatest 
amount. 

We had now reached the last of July, and the 
woods were full of new voices, not alone the 
peeps or chirps of birdlings impatient for food. 
There were baffling rustles of leaves in the tree- 
tops, rebounds of twigs as some small form left 
them, flits of strange-colored wings, — migration 



172 THE WILES OF A WARBLEE, 

had begun. Now, if the bird-student wishes 
not to go mad with problems she cannot solve, 
she will be wise to fold her camp-stool and re- 
turn to the haunts of the squawking English 
sparrow and the tireless canary, the loud-voiced 
parrot, and the sleep-destroying mocking-bird. 
I did. 



XVIIT. 

A RAINY-DAY TRAMP. 

Before I opened my eyes in the morning I 
knew something had happened, for I missed the 
usual charm of dawn. A robin, to be sure, 
made an effort to lead, as was his custom, and 
sang out bravely once or twice; a song sparrow, 
too, flitted into the evergreen beside my window, 
and uttered his sweet and cheery little greeting 
to whom it might concern. But those were the 
only ones out of the fourteen voices we were 
accustomed to hear in the morning. 

When I came out on the veranda not a note 
was to be heard and not a bird to be seen ex- 
cepting a woodpecker, who bounded gayly up 
the trunk of a maple, as if sunshine were not 
essential to happiness, and a chipping- sparrow, 
who went about through the dripping grass 
with perfect indifference to weather, squabbling 
with his fellow-chippies, and picking up his 
breakfast as usual. 

I seated myself in the big rocker, and turned 
toward the woods, a few rods away. The rain, 
which had fallen heavily for hours, light and 



174 A BAINY-DAY TJRAMP. 

fine now, drew a shimmering veil before the 
trees, — a veil like a Japanese bead-hanging, 
which hides nothing, only the rain veil was more 
diaphanous than anything fashioned by human 
hands. It did not conceal, but enhanced the 
charm of everything behind it, lending a glamour 
that turned the woods into enchanted land. 

Before the house how the prospect was 
changed ! The hills and Adirondack woods in 
the distance were cut sharply off, and our little 
world stood alone, closed in by heavy walls of 
mist. 

My glass transported me to the edge of the 
side lawn, where I looked far under the trees, and 
rejoiced in the joy of the woods in rain. The 
trees were still, as if in ecstasy ''too deep for 
smiling;" the ferns gently waved and nodded. 
Every tiny leaf that had thrust its head up 
through the mould, ambitious to be an ash or a 
maple or a fern, straightened itself with fullness 
of fresh life. The woods were never so fasci- 
nating, nor showed so plainly 

" The immortal gladness of inanimate things." 

A summer shower the birds, and we, have 
reason to expect, and even to enjoy, but a down- 
pour of several hours, a storm that lays the deep 
grass flat, beats down branches, and turns every 
hollow into a lake, was more than they had pro- 



BIKDS IN THE RAIN. 175 

vided for, I fear. My heart went out to the 
dozens of bobolink and song - sparrow babies 
buried under the matted grass, the little tawny 
thrushes wandering around cold and comfortless 
on the soaked ground in the woods, the warbler 
infants, — redstart and chestnut-sided — that I 
knew were sitting humped up and miserable in 
some watery place under the berry bushes, the 
young tanager only just out of the nest, and the 
two cuckoo babies, thrust out of their home at 
the untimely age of seven days, to shiver around 
on their weak blue legs. 

My only comfort was in thinking of wood- 
pecker little folk, the yellow-bellied family whose 
loud and insistent baby cries we had listened to 
for days, the downy and hairy, and the golden- 
wing. They were all warm and snug, if they 
could only be persuaded to stay at home. But 
from what I have seen of young birds, when 
their hour strikes they go, be it fair or foul. To 
take the bitter with the sweet is their fate, and 
no rain, however driving, no wind, however 
rough, can detain them an hour when they feel 
the call of the inner voice which bids them go. 
I have seen many birdlings start out in weather 
that from our point of view should make the 
feathered folk, old or young, hug the nest or any 
shelter they can find. 

In the afternoon the rain had ceased, and we 



176 A BAINY-DAY TRAMP. 

went out. How beautiful we found the woods I 
More than ever I despair of 

" Putting" my woods in song." 

Every fresh condition of light brings out new 
features. They are not the same in the morn- 
ing and the afternoon ; sunshine makes them 
very different from a gray sky; and heavy rain, 
which hangs still in drops from every leaf and 
twig, changes them still more. 

This time the tree-trunks were the most no- 
ticeable feature. Thoreau speaks of rain wak- 
ing the lichens into life, and we saw this as never 
before. Not only does it bring out the colors 
and give a brightness and richness they show at 
no other time, but it raises the leaves — if one 
may so call them — makes them stand out fresh. 
The beeches were marvelous with many shades 
of green, and of pink, from a delicate blush over 
the whole tree, to bright vermilion in small 
patches. The birches, "most shy and ladylike 
of trees," were intensely yellow; some lovely 
with dabs of green, while others looked like rug- 
ged old heroes of many battles, with great patches 
of black, and ragged ends of loosened bark frin- 
ging them like an Indian's war dress, up to the 
branches. Every hollow under the trees had 
become a clear pond to reflect these beauties, 
and lively little brooks rippled across the path, 



THE OVEN-BIRD'S LOVE SONG, 177 

adding to the woods the only thing they lacked, 
— running water. 

Instinctively our feet turned up the path to 
the oven-bird's nest, so narrow that we brushed 
a shower from every bush. There he was, 
singing at that moment. ''Teacher! teacher! 
teacher!" he called, with head thrown up and 
wings drooped. And then while we looked he 
left his perch, and passed up between the 
branches out of our sight, his sweet ecstatic 
love-song floating down to delight our souls. 

Surely, we thought, all must be well in the 
cabin among the dead leaves, or he could not 
sing so. Yet life had not been all rose-colored 
to the little dame whom we had surprised several 
days before, bringing great pieces of what ap- 
peared to be lace, to line the nest she had made 
so wonderfully. We had watched her, breath- 
less, for a long time, while she went back and 
forth carrying in old leaves, softened, bleached, 
and turned to lace by long exposure, arranged 
each one carefully and moulded it to place by 
pressing her breast against it, and turning ronni 
and round in the nest. Curious enough she 
looked as she alighted at some distance, and 
walked — not hopped — to her little "oven," 
holding the almost skeletonized leaf before her 
like an apron, so busy that she did not observe 
that she had visitors. 



178 A RAINY-DAY TRAMP. 

Then came a day when, on reaching our usual 
place, we found that an accident had happened. 
The dainty roof was crushed in, and the poor 
little egg^ for which such loving preparations 
had been made, lay pathetically on the ground 
outside the door. My comrade crept carefully 
up, raised the tiny roof to place, and with deft 
fingers put a twig under as a prop to hold it, 
then gently laid the pretty egg in the lace-lined 
nest. 

The next day we hurried out to see if the bird 
had resented our clumsy human help. But no ; 
like the wise little creature she was, she had ac- 
cepted the goods the gods had provided, and 
laid a second pearl beside the first. On our 
next visit, therefore — - es23ecially when we heard 
the gleeful song of her (supposed) mate — we 
came up with confidence to see our little oven- 
bird homestead. But, alas! somebody not so 
loving as we had been there; the two pretty 
eggs were gone, not a sign of them to be seen, 
and the nest was deserted. Yet we could not 
give up a hope that she would return, and day 
after day our steps turned of themselves to the 
oven-bird's nook. This rainy day, as a dozen 
times before, we found the little house still 
empty, and as before we turned sadly away, 
when suddenly a new sound broke the stillness. 
"Wuk! wuk! wuk! wa-a-a-ah! wa-a-a-ah ! " it 



THE SQUIRBEVS JOKE, 179 

cried. It was the exact tone of a young baby, 
a naive and innocent cry. What could it be? 
Was some tramp mother hidden behind the 
bushes? Was it a new bird with this unbird- 
like cry? I was startled. But my friend was 
smiling at my dismay. She pointed to the crotch 
of a tree, and there a saucy gray squirrel lay 
sprawled out fiat, uttering his sentiments in this 
abominable parody on the human baby cry. I 
believe the first squirrel learned it from some 
deserted infant, and handed it down as a choice 
joke upon us all. At any rate this performer 
was not suffering as his tones would indicate ; 
for seeing that he had an audience more inter- 
ested than he desired, he pulled himself together, 
whisked his bushy tail in our faces, and disap- 
peared behind the trunk, from whence, in one 
instant, his head was thrust on one side and his 
tail on the other. And so he remained as long 
as we were in sight. 

This absurd episode changed our mood, and 
soon we tramped gayly back over the soft leaf- 
covered paths, fording the newly formed brooks, 
shaking showers upon ourselves from the sap- 
lings, and arriving at last, dripping but happy, 
on the veranda, where, after donning drier cos- 
tumes, we spent the rest of the day watching 
the birds that came to the trees on the lawn. 



XIX. 



THE VAGARIES OF A WARBLER. 



The bird lover who carries a glass but never 
a gun, who observes but never shoots, sees many 
queer things not set down in the books ; freaks 
and notions and curious fancies on the part 
of the feathered folk, which reveal an individ- 
uality of character as marked in a three-inch 
warbler as in a six - foot man. Some of the 
idiosyncrasies of our "little brothers" may be 
understood and explained from the human stand- 
point, others are as baffling as "the lady, or the 
tiger?" 

One lovely and lazy day last July — the fourth 
it was — a perfect day with not a cannon nor 
even a cracker to disturb its peace, my comrade 
and I turned our steps toward the woods, as we 
had for the thirty-and-three mornings preced- 
ing that one. 

This morning, however, was distinguished by 
the fact that we had a special object. In gen- 
eral, our passage through the woods was an open- 
eyed (and open-minded) loitering walk, alter- 
nated with periods of rest on our camp-stools. 



A MADDENING PURSUIT. 181 

wherever we found anything of interest to de- 
tain us. 

On this Fourth of July we were in search of 
a warbler, — one of the most tantalizing, mad- 
dening pursuits a sensible human being can en- 
gage in. Fancy the difficulty of dragging one's 
self, not to mention the flying gown, camp-stool, 
opera-glass, note-book and other impedimenta 
through brush and brier, over logs, under fallen 
trees, in the swamp and through the tangle, to 
follow the eccentric movements of a scrap of a 
bird the size of one's finger, who proceeds by 
wings and not by feet, who goes over and not 
through all this growth. 

The corner to which we had traced our "black- 
throated blue," and where we suspected he had 
a nest, presented a little worse than the usual 
snarl of saplings and fallen branches and other 
hindrances, and the morning was warm. My 
heart failed me ; and as my leader turned from 
the path I deserted. "You go in, if you like," 
I said; "I '11 wait for you here." 

I seated myself, and she went on. For a few 
minutes I heard the cracking of twigs, the rustle 
of her movements against the bushes, the heavj^ 
tread of her big dog, and then all was silent. 

It was — did I say it was a fair morning? — 
not a breath of air was stirring. My seat was 
in a rather open spot at the foot of a big butter- 



182 THE VAGARIES OF A WARBLEB. 

nut tree; and I could look far up where its 
branches spread out wide and held their grace- 
ful leafy stars against the blue. 

In the woods I am never lonely ; but I was 
not this morning alone. Near by a vireo kept 
up his tireless song ; a gray squirrel peeped cu- 
riously at me from behind a trunk, his head 
showing on one side and his tail on the other; 
an oven-bird stole up behind to see what man- 
ner of creature this was, and far off I could 
hear the tanager singing. 

I did not notice the time ; but after a while I 
became conscious of a low whistle which seemed 
to mingle with my reveries, and might have 
been going on for some minutes. Suddenly it 
struck me that it was the call of my fellow-stu- 
dent, and I started up the road wondering lazily 
if she had found the nest, and, to tell the truth, 
not caring much whether she had or not. For, 
to tell the whole truth, I had long ago steeled my 
heart against the fascinations of those bewitch- 
ing little sprites who never stay two seconds in 
one spot, and sternly resolved never, never to 
get interested in a warbler. 

My companion, however, was not so philo- 
sophical or so cool. She never could withstand 
the flit of a warbler wing ; she would follow for 
half a day the absurd but enchanting little trill ; 
and she regularly went mad (so to speak) at 



SHE HAD FOUND SOMETHING, 183 

every migration, over the hundred or two, more 
or less, varieties that made this wood a resting- 
place on their way. Now, I could resist the 
birds by never looking at them, but I could not 
resist my friend's enthusiasm; so when she 
started on a warbler trail, I generally followed, 
as a matter of course. And I admit that the 
blue, to which we shortened his name, was a 
beauty and a charming singer. 

I passed quietly up the road toward the con- 
tinued low calls, and soon saw the student, not 
far from the path, in a clearer spot than usual, 
sitting against a maple sapling, with her four- 
footed protector at her feet. When I came in 
sight she beckoned eagerly but silently, and I 
knew she had found something; probably the 
nest, I thought. As quietly as might be under 
the circumstances (namely, a passage through 
dead leaves, brittle twigs, unexpected hollows, 
etc.), I crept to her side, planted my camp-stool 
near hers, and sat down, in obedience to her 
imperious gesture. 

"Now look," she whispered, pointing to a 
nest in plain sight. 

''Why that's the redstart nest we saw yes- 
terday from the road," I answered in the same 
tone, somewhat disappointed, it must be said, 
for redstart nests were on about every third sap- 
ling in the woods. 



184 THE VAGABIES OF A WARBLER. 

"Yes; but see what 's going on," she added, 
excitedly. 

'^I see," I replied; "there is a young bird on 
the edge of the nest and its mother is feeding 
it; " and I was about to lower my glass and ask 
what there was surprising about that, when she 
went on : — 

" Keep looking ! There ! Who 's that ? " 

"Why that 's — why — that 's a chestnut- 
sided warbler ! and — what ? — he feeds the 
same baby! " I gasped, interested now as much 
as she. 

" There ! " she exclaimed, triumphantly, "I 
wanted you to see that with your own eyes, since 
you scorn to look at the warblers. He has been 
doing that ever since I left you. I could n't 
bear to let him out of my sight I" 

At that moment the warbler appeared again, 
and the wise redstart baby, who at least knew 
enough to take a good thing when it offered, 
opened his ever-ready mouth for the bit of a 
worm he brought. 

But lo ! Madam, who had flown the moment 
before, returned in hot haste, and flung herself 
upon that small philanthropist as if he had 
brought poison ; he vanished. 

Here was indeed a queer complication! It 
was a redstart nest without doubt, but who 
owned the baby? If he were a redstart, why 



WHO OWNED THE BABY? 185 

did Mamma refuse help in her hard work, and 
why did the chestnut-sided insist on helping? 
If he were a chestnut-sided infant, how did he 
come in a redstart nest, and what had the red- 
start to do with him? 

These were the problems with which we had 
to grapple, and we settled ourselves to the work. 
We placed our seats against neighboring sap- 
lings, for backs, and we first critically examined 
that nest. It was surely a redstart's, though at 
an unusual height, perhaps twenty -five feet, as 
we had observed the day before when we had 
both noted in our books that we saw the male 
feeding the young. Even had the nest not been 
so plainly a redstart's, the air of that mother 
was unmistakable. She owned that nest and 
that baby, there could not be a doubt, and the 
dapper little personage with chestnut sides was 
an interloper. 

Nearly two hours we watched every movement 
of the small actors in this strange drama, and 
in seeking food they often came within six feet 
of us on our own level, so that we could not 
mistake their identity. 

The poor little mamma was in deep distress. 
Although her mate was absent, she resented her 
neighbor's efforts to help in her work, and 
dashed at him furiously every time she saw him 
come. Yet she could not stay on guard, for 



186 THE VAGABIES OF A WARBLER. 

upon her alone devolved the duty of feeding that 
nestling. So she rushed frantically hither and 
thither in mad redstart fashion, brought her 
morsel and administered it, and then darted an- 
grily after the enemy, who appeared as often as 
she did, every time with a tidbit for that pam- 
pered youngster. 

This double duty seemed almost too much for 
the redstart. Her feathers were ruffled, her tail 
opened and shut nervously, and at every inter- 
val that she could spare from her breathless 
exertions she uttered in low tones the redstart 
song, as though calling on that missing lord of 
hers. 

And where was that much needed personage ? 
Had he been killed in these carefully protected 
and fenced woods, where no guns or collectors 
were allowed, and trespass notices were as plen- 
tiful as blackberries ? Not by shooting we were 
sure; we should have heard a gun at the house. 
Had, then, an owl paid a twilight visit, and 
could a redstart be surprised? Or could, per- 
chance, a squirrel have stolen upon him unaware? 
We shall never know. There 's no morning 
paper to chronicle the tragedies in the bird 
world; and it would be too pitiful reading if 
there were. 

The most curious thing about the whole per- 
formance was the behavior of the chestnut-sided. 



DOMESTIC INFELICITY, 187 

His manner was as unruffled as Madam's was 
excited. The most just and honorable cause in 
the world could not give more absolute self-pos- 
session, more dignified persistence, than was 
shown by this wonderful atom of a bird. He 
acknowledged her right to reprove him, for he 
vanished before her outraged motherhood every 
time; but the moment the chase ended he fell 
to collecting food, and by the time his assailant 
had given her bantling a morsel, he was ready 
with another. 

What could be his motive? Was he a char- 
ity-mad personage, such as we sometimes see 
among bigger folk, determined to benefit his 
kind, whether they would or no ? Had he, per- 
chance, been bereaved of his own younglings, 
and felt moved to bestow his parental care upon 
somebody? Did he wish to experiment with 
some theory of his own on another's baby? 
Was it his aim to coax that young redstart to 
desert his family and follow after the traditions 
of the chestnut-sided ? 

Alas ! how easy to ask ; how hard to answer ! 

By this time I had become as absorbed in the 
drama as my companion. We forgot, or post- 
poned, the blue, and gave the day to study of 
this case of domestic infelicity. Five long hours 
we sat there (morning and afternoon) before the 
stage on which the interesting but agitating 



188 THE VAGABIES OF A WABBLER. 

play went on ; and after tea, just before dark^ 
we came out again. All this time tlie war be- 
tween the two still raged, with no abatement of 
spirit. 

Breakfast was not loitered over on the follow- 
ing morning, and we hurried out to our post. 
The situation was changed a little. The young- 
ster had made up his mind to go out into the 
world. He had moved as far as the branch, a 
few inches from the nest, and was still fed on 
both sides by his zealous providers. Mamma, 
however, though every time repelling her unwel- 
come assistant, was not so nervous. Perhaps she 
realized that a few hours more would end the 
trouble. She fed, she encouraged, and pretty 
soon, while we looked, the infant flew to the 
nearest tree. 

Now the chestnut-sided began to have diffi- 
culty in following up his self-imposed charge. 
He took to coming close upon the mother's heels 
to see where she went. But this course was at- 
tended with the difficulty that the instant she 
had fed she was ready to turn upon him, which 
she never failed to do. 

After several short flights about the tree, the 
young bird, grown bolder, perhaps by over-feed- 
ing, for surely never nestling was stuffed as that 
one was, attempted a more ambitious flight, 
failed, and came fluttering to the ground, much 



THE BIRD IN THE HAND. 189 

to the dismay of his mamma, who followed him 
closely all the way. 

This was our opportunity, the moment we 
had waited for ; we must see that disputed baby ! 

My comrade dropped everything and ran to 
the spot. A moment's scrambling about on the 
ground, a few careful ''grabs" among the dead 
leaves, and she held the exhausted little fellow 
in her hand. He was not frightened ; but his 
mother was greatly disturbed at first. We were 
too interested in this case to heed her, and in- 
deed after a moment's demonstration she flew 
away and left him in our hands. 

We examined him minutely, and I noted his 
markings on the spot. There was no doubt 
about his being a redstart baby, as I had been 
convinced from the first. When we had settled 
this, the little one was placed on a branch, where 
he remained quite calmly, and we left him to 
his two attendants. 

The next morning we found the mother still 
hard at work in the same part of the woods (we 
knew her by some feathers she had lost from her 
breast), but the gallant little warbler was no- 
where to be seen. 



XX. 

A CLEVER CUCKOO. 

" Hark, the cuckoo, weatherwise, 
Still hiding, farther onward woos you.'' 

The mysterious bird, around whose name 
cluster some strange facts as well as absurd fan- 
cies ; shy and intolerant of the human race, yet 
bold in protecting his treasures; devoted and 
tender in his family relations, yet often known 
in the neighborhood where he passes his days as 
a mere ^^ wandering voice," — 

" No bird, hut an invisible thing", 
A voice, a mystery," — 

this bird, the cuckoo* was a stranger to me till 
one happy day last June, when I came upon him 
where he could not escape, beside his own nest. 
In returning from our daily visit to the woods 
that morning, my fellow-student turned down a 
narrow footway connecting the woods with the 
home-fields, and I followed. She had passed 
through half its length, her dog close behind 
her, when our eyes, ever searching the trees and 
bushes, fell almost at the same instant upon a 



THE CUCKOO'S NEST. 191 

nest, with the sitting bird at home. It was so 
near me that I could have touched it, being not 
more than two feet from the ground, and hardly 
farther from the path. 

Fearing to startle the little mother, whose 
frightened eyes were fixed upon us, we an- 
nounced our mutual discovery by a single move- 
ment of the hand, and walked quietly past with- 
out pausing. Not until we reached the open 
fields at the end did my comrade whisper, "a 
cuckoo," and our hearts, if not our lips, sang 
with Wordsworth, "Thrice welcome, darling of 
the spring," for the nest of this shy bird we 
hardly dared hope to see. 

After the morning of our happy discovery the 
cuckoo path became part of our regular route 
home from the woods. Our first care was to 
dispel the fears of the bird, and accustom her to 
seeing us, so for several days we passed her with- 
out pausing, though we looked at her and spoke 
to her in low tones as we went by. 

Three times she flew at sight of us, but on the 
fourth morning she remained, though with tail 
straight up and ready for instant flight. But 
finding that we did not disturb her, she calmed 
down, and became so fearless that she did not 
move nor appear agitated when at last we did 
stop before her door, spoke to her, and identified 
her as the black-billed cuckoo. 



192 



A CLEVER CUCKOO. 



On the eighth day of our visits it happened 
that I went to the woods alone. I found the 
bird at home, as usual, and armed with an 
opera-glass, I placed myself at some distance 
to watch her. Half an hour passed before she 
stirred a feather, but I was not lonely. A 
mourning-w^arbler came about, eating and sing- 
ing alternately, after the manner of his kind, 
and the pretty trill of the black-throated green 
warbler came out of the woods. Then a crow 
mamma created a diversion by helping herself to 
an egg for her baby's breakfast, when a robin 
and a vireo — curious pair! — took after her 
with loud cries of indignation and reproach. 

When this excitement was over, the trio had 
disappeared in the woods, and silence had fallen 
upon us again, I heard the cuckoo call at a little 
distance, and in a moment the bird himself 
alighted on a twig three feet above the nest. 
He was a beauty, but he appeared greatly ex- 
cited. He threw up his tail till it pointed to the 
sky over his head, then let it slowly drop to the 
horizontal position. This he did three times, 
while he looked down upon his household, so 
absorbed that he did not see me at all. 

Then the patient sitter vacated her post, and 
he flew down to the nest. The top was hidden 
by leaves, so that I cannot positively affirm that 
he sat on the eggs, but it is certain that he re- 



A BLACK-SATIN MOUTH, 193 

mained perfectly silent and motionless there 
for forty -five minutes. Then I caught sight of 
Madam returning. She came in from the woods, 
behind and at the level of the nest ; there was a 
moment's flutter of wings, and I saw that her 
mate was gone, and she in her usual place. 

The next day there was a change in the pro- 
gramme. It happened that I arrived when the 
mother was away, and the head of the household 
in charge. No sooner did I appear on the path 
than he flew off the nest with great bustle, thus 
betraying himself at once ; but he did not desert 
his post of protector. He perched on a branch 
somewhat higher than my head, and five or six 
feet away, and began calling, a low "coo-oo." 
With every cry he opened his mouth very wide, 
as though to shriek at the top of his voice, and 
the low cry that came out was so ludicrously in- 
adequate to his apparent effort that it was very 
droll. In this performance he made fine display 
of the inside of his mouth and throat, which 
looked, from where I stood, like black satin. 

The calls he made while I watched him 
sounded so far off that if I had not been within 
six feet of him, and seen him make them, I 
should never have suspected him : — 

" A cry 
Which made me look a thousand ways, 
In bush and tree and sky, ' ' 



194 A CLEVER CUCKOO. 

Finding that his voice did not drive me away, 
the bird resorted to another method; he tried 
intimidation. First he threw himself into a 
most curious attitude, humping his shoulders 
and opening his tail like a fan, then spreading 
his wings and resting the upper end of them on 
his tail, which made at the back a sort of scoop 
effect. Every time he uttered the cry he lifted 
wings and tail together, and let them fall slowly 
back to their natural position. It was the queer- 
est bird performance I ever saw. 

During all this excitement there sounded from 
a little distance a low single "coo," which, I 
suppose, was the voice of his mate. Not wish- 
ing to make a serious disturbance in the family, 
and seeing that he was not to be conciliated, I 
walked slowly on, looking in the nest as I passed. 
It contained one egg that looked like a robin's, 
and beside it a small bundle of what resembled 
black flesh stuck full of white pins. This, then, 
was the cuckoo baby ; surely an odd one ! 

On the third day after this experience we were 
fortunate enough again to find the nest uncov- 
ered. A second youngster lay beside the first, 
and the two entirely filled the nest. They were 
perhaps two and a half inches long, and resem- 
bled, as said above, mere lumps of flesh. After 
looking at the young family, we seated ourselves 
a little way off to wait for some one to come 
home. 



A SUNNY COBNEE, 195 

The place the cuckoo had chosen to nest was 
one of the most attractive spots on the grounds, 
an opening in the woods in which, after the loss 
of the trees, had grown up a thicket of wild ber- 
ries. The bushes were nearly as high as one's 
head, and so luxuriant that they made an im- 
penetrable tangle, through which paths were cut 
in all directions, and kept open by much work 
each year. 

In the middle of the opening was a clump of 
larger saplings, around the foot of two or three 
very tall old basswood-trees, part of the origi- 
nal forest. It was the paradise of small fruits. 
Early in the season elderberries ripened, and 
offered food to whoever would come. Before 
they were gone the bushes were red with the 
raspberry, and blackberries were ready to fol- 
low; choke-cherries completed the list, and 
lasted till into the fall. The insect enemies of 
fruit were there in armies. 

Its constant supply of food, its shelter from 
the winds on every side, and its admirable hid- 
ing-places for nests, made this warm, sunny 
corner the chosen home of many birds. War- 
blers were there from early spring, heard, 
though not always seen. Veeries nested on its 
borders, woodpeckers haunted the dead trees at 
the edge, and all the birds of the neighborhood 
paid visits to it. 



196 A CLEVER CUCKOO. 

We had not waited long when the head of the 
cuckoo family appeared. He saw us instantly, 
and, I regret to say, was no more reconciled to 
our presence than he had been on the previous 
occasion; but he showed his displeasure in a 
different way. He rushed about in the trees, 
crying, " cuck-a-ruck, cuck-a-ruck," running 
out even to the tip of slender branches that 
seemed too slight to bear his weight. When 
his feelings entirely overcame him he flew away, 
and though we remained fifteen minutes, no one 
came to the nest. 

The day after this display of unkindly feeling 
toward us we passed down the cuckoo path, saw 
Madam on the nest, and at once determined to 
wait and see what new demonstration her mate 
would invent to express his emotions. My com- 
rade threw herself down full length on the dead 
leaves beside the path, where she could bask in 
the sunlight, while I sat in the shade close by. 

After some time we saw the cuckoo stealing 
in by a roundabout back way through the low 
growth in the edge of the wood. He was com- 
ing with supplies, for a worm dangled from his 
beak. He had nearly reached the nest — in 
fact was not two feet away — when his eyes fell 
upon us. He stopped as if paralyzed. We re- 
mained motionless, almost breathless, but he did 
not take his eyes off us, nor attempt to relieve 



STRUCK DUMB, 197 

himself of that worm. Still we did not move ; 
arms began to ache, feet tingled with "going to 
sleep," every joint stiffened, and I began to be 
afraid I should find myself turned to stone. 
Still that bird never moved an eyelid, so far as 
we could see. 

It was fully twenty-five minutes that we three 
stared at each other, all struck dumb. But Na- 
ture asserted herself in us before it did in him. 
The sun was hot, and the mosquitoes far from 
dumb. We yielded as gracefully as we could 
under the circumstances, and left him there as 
motionless as a "mounted specimen" in a glass 
case. 

The next morning we started out rather ear- 
lier than usual, half expecting to find Master 
Cuckoo grown to that perch. It appeared, how- 
ever, that he had torn himself away, for he was 
not to be seen. The little mother, who was on 
the nest, had readily learned that we intended 
no harm, but her peppery little spouse learned 
nothing; he was just as unreconciled to us the 
last day as the first. 

This time he tried to keep out of sight. First 
we heard his call far off, then a low "cuck-a- 
ruck" quite near, to which she replied with a 
gentle "coo-oo " hardly above her breath. 

It was soothing, but it did not altogether 
soothe. He came up from behind us with an- 



198 A CLEVER CUCKOO. 

other dangling worm in his mouth, slipped si- 
lently through the bushes to the nest, and in 
a moment departed by the back way without a 
word. Then we went nearer, looked once more 
upon the shy but brave little mother, and went 
our way. 

We did not suspect it, but that was our last 
sight of the cuckoo family at home; the next 
day the place was empty and deserted. 

I was smitten with remorse. Were we the 
cause of the calamity? Had the poor birds car- 
ried off the babies ? Or had, perchance, another 
nest tragedy occurred? We looked carefully; 
there were no signs of a struggle. They had ap- 
parently flown in peace. Yet six days before 
one was still in the egg and the other newly 
hatched. Only two days ago the pair looked 
like tiny black cushions covered vrith white 
pins, and not a quarter the size of the parents. 
Moreover, they had been sat upon every day. 

In this painful uncertainty we were obliged to 
leave the matter ; but although we saw no more 
of them, they did not pass out of our minds. 
Every day we looked in the woods and listened 
for cuckoo voices, but every day we were disap- 
pointed, until about eleven days later. 

We were walking slowly down what we called 
the veery road in the woods, far over the other 
side from the cuckoo's nest, when we heard a 



MOTHERLY TACTICS, 199 

very low but strange baby cry in some thick 
busbes. It was a constant repetition of one 
note, a gentle "tut, tut, tut." 

We were naturally eager to see the youngster, 
and we carefully approached the spot. As we 
came near, a cuckoo flew up, scrambled through 
a tree, and disappeared. Could it be a cuckoo 
baby we had heard? In an instant the fugitive 
seemed to think better of her intention to fly. 
Perhaps she was conscience-smitten for desert- 
ing the little one, for she returned in plain 
sight, though at some distance. She began at 
once calling and posturing, clearly for our bene- 
fit. We, of course, understood her tactics. She 
wished to draw us away from the neighborhood 
of her infant, and as it was impossible to pene- 
etrate the thicket, and we did not enjoy tortur- 
ing an anxious mother, we decided to yield to 
her wishes, and see what she would do. 

She cried every moment, "tut, tut, tut," in 
a low tone, and ten or twelve times repeated. 
At the same time she lifted her long tail, and 
slowly let it fall, with a beautiful and graceful 
motion. She crouched on the branch, and put 
her head down to it, then suddenly rose and 
threw up her head and tail, making herself as 
conspicuous and as remarkable as she could. 
We moved a little toward her. That encouraged 
her to go on ; and easily, in a sort of careless, 



200 A CLEVER CUCKOO. 

inconsequent way, she hopped to the next branch 
farther. So we let ourselves be drawn away, she 
keeping up all the time the low call, while the 
infant, which we are sure was there, had become 
utterly silent. 

She was a beautiful creature, a picture of 
grace ; and when she had beguiled us some dis- 
tance away from where we heard the baby-cry, 
she suddenly slipped behind a branch and was 
gone ; and we felt repaid for missing the young 
one by the beautiful exhibition she had made of 
herseK. We never saw her again. 



XXI. 

TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

Last summer I made the acquaintance of an 
outlaw ; an unfortunate fellow-creature under the 
ban of condemnation, burdened with an oppro- 
brious name, and by general consent given over 
to the tender mercies of any vagabond who 
chooses to torture him or take his life. One 
would naturally sympathize with the "under 
dog," but when, instead of one of his peers as 
opponent, a poor little fellow, eight inches long, 
has arrayed against him the whole human race, 
with all its devices for catching and killing, his 
chances for life and the pursuit of happiness 
are so small that any lover of justice must be 
roused to his defense, if defense be possible. 

The individual of whom I speak is, properly, 
the yellow-bellied woodpecker, though he is 
more commonly known as the sapsucker, in 
some places the squealing sapsucker; and I 
hailed with joy his presence in a certain pro- 
tected bit of woods, a little paradise for birds 
and bird lovers, where, if anywhere, he could 
be studied. There is some propriety in apply- 



202 TWO LITTLE DBUMMEES. 

ing to him the strange epithet "squealing," I 
must allow, for the bird has a peculiar voice, 
nasal enough for the conventional Brother Jon- 
athan; but ''sapsucker" is, in the opinion of 
many who have studied his ways, undeserved. 
Dr. Merriam, even while admitting that the 
birds do taste the sap, says positively, "It is 
my firm belief that their chief object in making 
these holes is to secure the insects which gather 
about them." 

My introduction to the subject of my study 
took place just after sundown on a beautiful 
June evening. We were riding up from the 
railway station, three miles away. The horses 
had climbed to the top of the last hill, and trotted 
gayly through a belt of fragrant woods which 
reached like an arm around from the forest 
behind, as if lovingly inclosing the attractive 
scene, — a pleasant, old-fashioned homestead, 
with ample lawn sloping down toward the valley 
we had left, and looking away over low hills to 
the apparently unbroken forests of the Adiron- 
dacks. 

At this moment there arose a loud, strange 
cry, of distress it seemed, and I turned hastily 
to see a black and white bird, with bright red 
crown and throat, bounding straight up the 
trunk of an elm -tree, throwing back his head at 
every jerk with a comical suggestion of Jack's 



PECULIAR HABITS. 203 

"Hitchety! hatchety! up I go! " as he joyously 
mounted his beanstalk, in the old nursery story. 
There was surely nothing amiss with this little 
fellow, and, knowing almost nothing of the 

" Greys, whites, and reds, 
Of pranked woodpeckers that ne'er gossip out, 
But always tap at doors and gad about," 

I eagerly demanded his name, and was delighted 
to hear in answer, ''The sapsucker." I was 
delighted because I hoped to see for myself 
whether the bird merited the offensive name 
bestowed upon him, or was the victim of hasty 
generalization from careless observation or in- 
sufficient data, like others of his race. The 
close investigations of scientific men have re- 
versed many popular decisions. They have 
proved the crow to be the farmer's friend, most 
of the hawks and owls to be laborers in his in- 
terest, the kingbird to fare almost entirely upon 
destructive insects rather than bees, and other 
birds to be more sinned against than sinning. 

The first thing noted was the sapsucker 's 
peculiar food -seeking habit. One bird made 
the lawn a daily haunt, and we, living chiefly 
on the veranda, saw him before us at all hours, 
from dawn to dusk, and thus had the best possi- 
ble chance to catch him in mischief, if to mis- 
chief he inclined. He generally made his ap- 
pearance flying in bounding, wavelike fashion, 



204 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS, 

uttering his loud mournful cry, which, though 
an apparent wail, was evidently not inspired by 
sadness. Alighting near the foot of a tree- 
trunk, with many repetitions of his complain- 
ing note, he gayly bobbed his way up the bark 
highway as if it were a ladder. When he 
reached the branches, he flew to another tree. 
This bird's custom of delivering his striking call 
as he approached and mounted a tree not far 
from his "food tree" may be a newly acquired 
habit ; for Dr. Merriam, who observed this spe- 
cies ten years ago on the same place, says that 
he "never heard a note of any description from 
them, either while in the neighborhood of these 
trees, or in flying to and fro between them and 
the forests." On his own trees the sapsucker 
was not in such haste, but lingered about the 
prepared rings, evidently taking his pick of the 
insects attracted there. 

The array of traps prepared for the wood- 
pecker's use was most curious, and readily ex- 
plained how he came by his name. The clever 
little workman had selected for his purpose two 
trees. One was a large elm, and around its 
trunk, about fifteen feet from the ground, he 
had laboriously cut with his sharp beak several 
rings of cups. These receptacles were some- 
what less than half an inch in diameter, and 
nearly their own width apart, and the rings en- 



THE SAPSUCKER'S TBAPS. 205 

circled the trunk as regularly as though laid out 
with mechanical instruments. His second depot 
of supplies was one of a close group of mountain 
ashes, which seemed to spring from one root,, 
and were thickly shaded by leaves to the ground. 
The elm would naturally attract the high-flying 
insects, and the ash those which stay nearer the 
earth, though I do not presume to say that was 
the bird's intention in so arranging them. The 
mountain-ash trunk was perforated in a different 
way from the elm, the holes being in lines up 
and down, and the whole trunk covered five or 
six feet above the root. These places were not 
at all moist or sticky on the several occasions 
when I examined them, and both trees were in 
a flourishing condition. 

The habit of the author of this elaborate ar- 
rangement was to fly from one tree to the other 
almost constantly. It appeared to lookers-on 
that he visited the traps on one and secured 
whatever was caught or lingered there, then 
went to the other for the same purpose ; thus al- 
lowing insects a chance to settle on each while 
he was absent. At almost any hour of the day 
he could be found vigorously carrying on his 
insect hunt in this singular fashion. 

It was too late in the season to see the sap- 
sucker in his most frolicsome humor, although 
occasionally we met in the woods two of them 



206 TWO LITTLE DBUMMEBS, 

in a lively mood, eagerly discussing in garrulous 
tones their own private affairs, or chasing each 
other with droll, taunting cries, some of which 
resembled the boy's yell, "oy-ee," but others 
defied description. During courtship, observes 
Dr. Merriam, they are inexpressibly comical, 
with queer rollicking ways and eccentric pranks, 
making the woods ring with their extraordinary 
voices. At this time, early in June, the season 
of woodpecker wooing was past. Each little 
couple had built a castle in the air, and set up 
a household of its own, somewhere in the woods 
surrounding the house. 

The two storehDuses on the lawn seemed to 
belong to one family, whose labor alone had pre- 
pared them; certainly they were the property 
of the sapsuckers. But the bird world, like the 
human, has its spoilers. A frequent visitor to 
the elm, on poaching bent, was a humming-bird, 
who treated the beguiling cups like so many 
flowers, hovering lightly before them, and testing 
one after another in regular order. The owner 
naturally objected, and if present flew at the 
dainty robber; but the elusive birdling simply 
moved to another place, not in the least awed by 
his comparatively clumsy assailant. Large flies, 
perhaps bees also, buzzed around the tempting 
bait, and doubtless many paid with their lives 
for their folly. 



PETTY FILFEBEMS, 207 

The most unexpected plunderer of the sap- 
sucker stores was a gray squirrel, who lay spread 
out flat against the trunk as though glued there, 
body, arms, legs, and even tail, with head down 
and closely pressed against the bark. I cannot 
positively affirm that he was sucking the sap or 
feeding upon the insects attracted to it, but it is 
a fact that his mouth rested exactly over one of 
the rings of holes ; a-nd his position seemed very 
satisfactory, for some reason, for he hung there 
motionless so long that I began to fear he was 
dead. All these petty pilferers may possibly 
have regarded the treasure as nature's own 
provision, like the flowers, but one visitor to 
his neighbor's magazine certainly knew better. 
This was the brilliant cousin of the sapsucker, 
the red-headed woodpecker, whose vagaries I 
shall speak of a little later. 

Nothing about the tri-colored family is more 
interesting than its habit of drumming, — 

*' The ceaseless rap 
Of the yellow-hammer's tap, 
Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap-tip. 
'Tis the merry pitter-patter 
Of the yellow-hammer's tap." 

Whether or not it is mere play is perhaps yet 
an open question. The drumming of the sap- 
sucker, one of the most common sounds of the 
woods and lawn, seemed sometimes simply for 



208 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

amusement, but again it appeared exceedingly- 
like a signal. A bird frequently settled himself 
in plain sight of us, on one of the trespass no- 
tices in the woods, and spent several minutes in 
that occupation, changing his place now and 
then, and thus producing different sounds, 
whether with that intention or not. Now he 
would tap on top of the board, again down one 
side, and then on a corner, but always on the 
edge. Nor was it a regular and monotonous 
rapping ; it was curiously varied. One perform- 
ance that I carefully noted down at the mo- 
ment reminded me of the click of a telegraph 
instrument. It was "rat-tat-tat-t-t-t-t-rat-tat," 
— the first three notes rather quick and sharp, 
the next four very rapid, and the last two quite 
slow. After tapping, the bird always seemed to 
listen. Often while I was watching one at his 
hammering, a signal of the same sort would come 
from a distance. Sometimes my bird replied; 
sometimes he instantly flew in the direction from 
which it came. Around the house the wood- 
peckers selected particular spots to use as drums, 
generally a bit of tin on a roof, or an eave- 
gutter of the same metal. A favorite place was 
the hindquarters of a gorgeous gilded deer that 
swung with the wind on the roof of the barn. 

So closely were they watched that the sap- 
suckers themselves were like old acquaintances 



A FEATHEBEB CRY-BABY. 209 

before the babes in the woods began to make 
themselves heard. No sooner had these little 
folk found their voices than they made the woods 
fairly echo. Cry-babies in feathers I thought 
I knew before, but the young woodpecker out- 
does anything in my experience. No wonder 
the woodpecker mamma sets up her nursery out 
of the reach of prowlers of all sorts ; so loud and 
so persistent are the demands of her nestlings 
that they would not be safe an hour, if they 
could be got at. The tone, too, must always 
arrest attention, for it is of the nasal quality I 
have mentioned. The first baby whisper, hardly 
heard at the foot of the tree, has a squeaky 
twang, which strengthens with the infant's 
strength, and the grown-up murmurs of love 
and screams of war are of the same order. 

It was during the nest-feeding days that we 
discovered most of the sapsucker homesteads; 
for, having many nests nearer our own level to 
study, we never sought them, and noticed them 
only when the baby voices attracted our atten- 
tion. The home that apparently belonged to 
our bird of the lawn was beautifully placed in 
a beech-tree heavy with foliage. At first we 
thought the owner an eccentric personage, who 
had violated all sapsucker traditions by building 
in a living tree ; but, on looking closely, it was 
evident that the top of the tree had been blown 



210 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

off, and from that break the trunk was dead two 
or three feet down. In that part was the open- 
ing, and the foliage that nearly hid it grew on 
the large branches below. Most of the nests, 
however, were in the customary dead trunks, 
on which we could gently rap, and bring out 
whoever was at home to answer our call. 

Young woodpeckers are somewhat precocious ; 
or, to speak more correctly, they stay in the 
nest till almost mature. We see in this family 
no half-fledged youngster wandering aimlessly 
about, unable to fly or to help itseK, a sight 
very common among the feathered folk whose 
homes are nearer the ground. One morning, a 
young bird, not yet familar with the mysteries 
of the world about him, flew into the open win- 
dow of a room in the house, and for an hour we 
had a fine opportunity to study him near at 
hand. The moment he entered he went to the 
cornice, and although he flew around freely, he 
did not descend so low as the top of the window, 
wide open for his benefit. He was not in the 
least afraid or embarrassed by his staring audi- 
ence, nor did he beat himself against the wall 
and the furniture, as would many birds in his 
position; in fact, he showed unusual self-pos- 
session and self-reliance. He was exceedingly 
curious about his surroundings : tapped the wall, 
tested the top of picture frames, drummed on the 



THE BEAUTY OF THE FAMILY. 211 

curtain cornice, and closely examined the ceil- 
ing. He was beautifully dressed in soft gray all 
mottled and spotted and barred with white, but 
he had not as "yet put on the red cap of his fa- 
thers. While we watched him, he heard outside 
a sapsucker cry, to which he listened eagerly; 
then he drummed quite vigorously on the cor- 
nice, as if in reply. It was not till he must 
have been very hungry that he blundered out of 
the window, as he had doubtless blundered in. 

The beauty of the drumming family, at least 
in that part of the country, is the red-headed 
woodpecker, which it happened I did not know. 
The first time I saw one, he was out for an air- 
ing with his mate, one lovely evening in June. 
The pair were scrambling about, as if in play, 
on the trunk of a tall maple-tree across the lane. 
They did not welcome our visit, nor our perhaps 
rather rude way of gazing at them; for one flew 
away, and the other perched on the topmost 
dead branch of a tree a little farther off, and 
proceeded to express his mind by a scolding 
'^kr-r-r," accompanied by violent bows toward 
us. Finding his demonstration unavailing, he 
soon followed his mate, and weeks passed before 
we saw him again, although we often walked 
down the lane with the hope of doing so. 

One beautiful morning, after the hay had 
been cut from the meadow, and all the hidden 



212 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

nests we had looked at and longed for while 
grass was growing, were opened to us, I had 
taken my comfortable folding-chair to a spe- 
cially delightful nook between a clump of ever- 
greens, which screened it from the house, and a 
row of maples, elms, and other trees, much fre- 
quented by birds. Close before me was a beauti- 
ful hawthorn-tree, in which a pair of kingbirds 
had long ago built their nest. On one side I 
could look over to an impenetrable, somewhat 
swampy thicket, where song sparrows and in- 
digo birds nested; on the other, past the pic- 
turesque old-fashioned arbor, half buried under 
vines and untrimmed trees, far down the pretty 
carriage-drive between young elms and flowering 
shrubs, where the bobolink had raised her brood, 
and the meadow lark had chanted his vesper 
hymn for us all through June. Many winged 
strangers came to feast on the treasures uncov- 
ered by the hay-cutter, and then the shy red- 
head showed himself on our grounds. To my 
surprise, he was searching the freshly cut stub- 
ble not at all like a woodpecker, but hobbling 
about most awkwardly, half flying, half hop- 
ping, seeking some delectable morsel, which, 
when found, he carried to the side of a tree-trunk, 
thrust into a crack, and ate at his leisure. The 
object I saw him treat in this way was as large 
as a bee, and he was some time in disposing of 



A RED-HEADED POACHER. 213 

it, even after it was anchored in the crack. 
Then, observing that, although a long way off, 
I was interested in his doings, he slipped around 
behind the trunk, and peered at me first from 
one side, then in an instant from the other. 

The next performance with which this bird 
entertained me was poaching upon his cousin's 
preserves. Sitting one evening on the veranda, 
looking over the meadow, I heard his low 
"kr-r-r," and saw him alight upon the sapsuck- 
er's elm. Whether he stumbled upon the feast 
or went with malice aforethought, he was not 
slow to appreciate the charms of his position. It 
may have been the nectar from the tree, or the 
minute victims of its attractions, I could not tell 
which, but something pleased him, for he de- 
voted himself to the task of exploring the tiny 
cups his industrious relative had carved, driv- 
ing away one of the younger members of the 
family already in possession. The young bird 
could not refuse to go before the big beak and 
determined manner of the stranger, but he did 
refuse to stay away; and every time he was 
ousted he returned to the tree, though he settled 
on a different place. Before the red-head had 
shown any signs of exhausting his find, the sap- 
sucker himself appeared, and at once fell upon 
his bigger cousin with savage cries. Disturbed 
so rudely from his pleasing occupation, the in- 



214 TWO LITTLE DBUMMEIiS. 

truder retired before the attack, though he pro- 
tested vigorously; and so great was the fascina- 
tion of the sj)ot, that he returned again and 
again, every time to go through the same pro- 
cess of being driven away. 

The raspberry hedge before my windows was 
the decoy that gave me my best chance to study 
the red-headed woodpecker. Day after day, as 
the berries ripened, I watched the dwellers of 
wood and meadow drawn to the rich feast, and 
at last, one morning, to my great joy, I saw the 
interesting drummer alight on a post overlooking 
the loaded vines. He plainly felt himself a 
stranger, and not certain of his reception by the 
residents of the neighborhood, for he crouched 
close to the fence, and looked warily about on 
every side. He had been there but a few mo- 
ments when a robin, self -constituted dictator 
of that particular corner of the premises, came 
down a few feet from him, as if to inquire his 
business. The woodpecker acknowledged the 
courtesy by drawing himself up very straight 
and bowing. The bow impressed, not to say 
awed, the native bird. He stood staring 
blankly, till the new-comer proclaimed his er- 
rand by dropping into the bushes, helping him- 
self to a berry, and returning to the fence to dis- 
pose of his plunder. This was too much ; the 
outraged redbreast dashed suddenly over the head 



INSULT OF A ROBIN. 215 

of the impertinent visitor, almost touching it as 
he passed. The woodpecker kept his ground in 
spite of this demonstration, and I learned how 
a bird accustomed to rest, and even to work, 
hanging to the trunk of a tree, would manage 
to pluck and eat fruit from a bush. He first 
sidled along the top of the board fence, looking 
down, till he had selected his berry. Then he 
half dropped, half flew, into the bushes, and 
sometimes seized the ripe morsel instantly, with- 
out alighting, but generally hung, back down, 
on a stalk which bent and swayed with his weight, 
while he deliberately gathered the fruit. He 
then returned to the fence, laid his prize down, 
and pecked it apart, making three or four bites 
of it. After some practice he learned to swal- 
low a berry whole, though it often required 
three or four attempts, and seemed almost more 
than he could manage. When he had accom- 
plished this feat, he sat with his head drawn 
down into his shoulders, as though he found 
himself uncomfortably stuffed. Having eaten 
two or three raspberries, our distinguished vis- 
itor always picked another, with which he flew 
away, — doubtless for the babies growing up in 
some dead tree across the lane. 

The little difficulty with the robin was easily 
settled by the stranger. Somewhat later in that 
first day, he took his revenge for the insulting 



216 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

dash over him by turning the tables and sweep- 
ing over the lofty head of the astonished robin, 
who ducked in gloriously, in his surprise, and 
called out, ''Tut! tut!" as who should say, 
"Can such things be?" After that Master 
Robin undertook a closer surveillance of that 
highway the fence, and might be seen at all hours 
perched on the tall gatepost, looking out for 
callers in brilliant array, or running along its 
whole length to see that no wily woodpecker 
was hiding in the bushes. He could not be on 
guard every moment, for his nursery up under 
the eaves of the barn was full of clamorous ba- 
bies, and he was obliged to give some attention 
to them ; but the red-head was not afraid of him, 
and, finding the fruit to his taste, he soon be- 
came a daily guest. 

Sometimes the spouse of the gay little fellow 
came also. She was always greeted by a low- 
whispered "kr-r-r," and the husky -toned con- 
versation between the two was kept up so long 
as both were there. Now, too, as the male be- 
gan to feel at home, I saw more of his odd ways. 
His attitudes were especially comical. Some- 
times he clung to the edge of the top board, 
his tail pressed against it, his wings drooped 
and spread a little, exposing his whole back, and 
thus remained for perhaps ten minutes. Again 
he flattened himself out on top of a post for a 



LEARNING A NEW TRADE. 217 

Sim bath. He sprawled and spread himself, 
every feather standing independent of its neigh- 
bor, till he looked as if he had been smashed 
flat, and more like some of the feather monstros- 
ities with which milliners disfigure their hats 
than a living bird. 

Another curious habit of my versatile guest 
was his fly-catching. It is already notorious 
that the golden-wing is giving up the profession 
of woodpecker and becoming a ground bird ; it 
is equally patent to one who observes him that 
the red-head is learning the trade of fly-catch- 
ing. Frequently, during the weeks that I had 
him under observation, I saw him fly up in the 
air and return to the fence, exactly like the king- 
bird. 

All the time I had been making this j)leasing 
acquaintance I had longed in vain to find the 
red-head's nest. It was probably in the pasture 
in which we had first met him, where the some- 
what spirited cattle in possession prevented my 
explorations. I hoped at least to see his young 
family ; but July days passed away, and though 
the bonny couple spent much time among the 
raspberries, they always carried off the nest- 
lings' share. 

In the very last hours of my stay, after trunks 
were packed, fate relented, and I spent nearly 
the whole day studying the "tricks and man- 



218 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

ners " of a red-headed baby. I had returned 
from my last morning's walk in the woods, and 
was seated by my window, thinking half sadly 
that my summer was ended, when I saw the 
woodpecker come to the raspberries, gather one, 
and fly away with it. Instead, however, of 
heading, as usual, for the woods across the pas- 
ture, he alighted on a fence near by. A small 
dark head rose above the edge of a board, opened 
a bill, and received the berry in it. Instantly I 
turned my glass upon that meek-looking head. 
So soon as the old bird disappeared the young 
one came up in sight, and in a few moments flew 
over to the nearer fence, beside the bushes. 
Then one of the parents returned, fed him two 
or three times, apparently to show him that ber- 
ries grew on bushes, and not in the beak, and 
then departed with an air that said, "There, 
my son, are the berries; help yourself! " 

Left now to his own devices, the little wood- 
pecker was my study for hours. He was like 
his parents, except that he was gray where they 
were red, and the white on the wings was barred 
off with a dark color which on theirs did not ap- 
pear. Like young creatures the world over, he 
at once began to amuse himself, working at a 
hole in the top of a post, digging into it vehe- 
mently, and at last, after violent effort, bring- 
ing out a stick nearly as long as himself. This 



THE BABY'S FROLIC. 219 

he brandished about as a child flourishes a whip, 
and presently laid it down, worried it, flung it 
about, and had a rare frolic with it. Tiring of 
that, he closely examined the fence, going over 
it inch by inch, and pecking every mark and 
stain on it. When startled by a bird flying over 
or alighting near him, he sprang back instantly, 
slipped over behind the fence or post, and hung 
on by his claws, leaving only his head in sight. 
He was a true woodpecker in his manners ; bow- 
ing to strangers who appeared, driving away one 
of his sapsucker cousins who came about, and 
keeping up a low cry of "kr-r-r " almost exactly 
like his parents. He showed also great interest 
in a party of goldfinches, who seemed to have 
gone mad that morning. 

Finally the thought of berries struck the young 
red-head. He began to consider going for 
them. One could fairly see the idea grow in his 
mind. He leaned over and peered into the 
bushes; he hitched along the fence, a little 
nearer, bent over again, then came down on the 
side of the board, and hung there, with body 
inclined toward the fruit. After many such 
feints, he actually did drop to the second board, 
and a little later secured a berry, which he took 
to the top of the post to eat. In spite of the 
fact that he was amply able to help himself, as 
he proved, he still demanded food when his par- 



220 TWO LITTLE DRUMMERS. 

exits came near, bowing and calling eagerlj^ but 
not fluttering his wings, as do most young birds. 
Nearly all day tlie little fellow entertained 
himself; working industriously on the fence, 
hammering the posts as if to keep in practice, 
as children play at their parents' life work, and 
varying these occupations with occasional excur- 
sions into the bushes for berries. The notion 
of flying away from where he had been left never 
appeared to enter his head. He seemed to be 
an unusually well-balanced young person, and 
intelligent beyond his years, — days, I should 
say. 



XXII. 

FROM MY WINDOW. 

The best place I have found for spying upon 
the habits of birds is behind a blind. If one 
can command a window with outside blinds, 
looking upon a spot attractive to the feathered 
world, he will be sure, sooner or later, to see 
every bird of the vicinity. If he will keep the 
blinds closed and look only through the opened 
slats, he will witness more of their unconstrained 
free ways than can possibly be seen by a person 
within their sight, though he assume the atti- 
tude and the stolidity of a wooden figure. Says 
our nature-poet, Emerson : — 

" You often thread the woods in vain * 

To see what singer piped the strain. 
Seek not, and the little eremite 
Flies forth and gayly sings in sight." 

And the bird student can testify to the truth of 
the verse. 

Many times, after having spent the morning 
in wandering about in the bird haunts of a neigh- 
borhood, I have returned to my room to write 
up my note-book, and have seen more of birds 



222 FEOM MY WIXDOW. 

and bird life in an hour from my window than 
during the whole morning's stroll. 

One of my windows, last summer, looked out 
upon an ideal bird corner : a bit of grass, uncut 
till very late, with a group of trees and shrubs 
at the lower boundary, and an old board fence, 
half buried in luxuriant wild raspberry bushes, 
running along one side. It was a neglected 
spot, the side yard of a farmhouse ; and I was 
careful not to enter it myself so often as to sug- 
gest to the birds that they were likely to see peo- 
ple. It had the further advantage of being so 
near the woods surrounding the house, that the 
shy forest birds were attracted to it. 

No sooner would I seat myself, pen in hand, 
than chirps and twitters would come from the 
trees, a bird alight on the fence, or a red squir- 
rel come out to sun himself. Of course the pen 
gave way to the opera-glass in a moment, and 
ofte^ not a line of the note -book got itself writ- 
ten till birds and squirrels had gone to bed with 
the sun. 

The group of trees which bounded my view at 
the end of this outdoor study I called the "lo- 
cust group." It consisted of a locust or two, 
surrounded by a small but close growth of lesser 
trees and shrubs that made a heaYj mass of fo- 
liage. There were a few young ashes, two or 
three half -grown maples, a shadberry bush, and 



THE PHCEBE'S PERCH. 223 

wild raspberry vines to carry the varied foliage 
to the ground. Inside this beautiful tangle of 
Nature's own arranging, was a perfect tent, so 
thickly grown near the ground that a person 
could hardly penetrate it without an axe, but 
open and roomy above, with branches and twigs 
enough to accommodate an army of birds. Be- 
hind that waving green curtain of leaves took 
place many dramas I longed to see ; but I knew 
that my appearance there would be a signal for 
the whole scene to vanish, and with flit of wings 
the dramatis personce to make their exit. So I 
tried to possess my soul in patience, and to con- 
tent myself with the flashes and glimpses I could 
catch through an opening here and there in the 
leafy drapery. 

At one corner of the group stood a small dead 
tree. This was the phoebe's customary perch, 
and on those bare branches — first or last — 
every visitor was sure to appear. On the lower 
branch the robin paused, with worm in mouth, 
on the way to his two-story nest under the eaves 
of the barn. On the top spire the warbler baby 
sat and stared at the world about it, till its 
anxious parent could coax it to a more secluded 
perch. From a side branch the veery poured 
his wonderful song, and the cheery little song- 
sparrow uttered his message of good will for all 
to hear and heed. Here the red-headed wood- 



224 FROM MY WINDOW. 

pecker waited, with low ''k-r-r-r-r" and many 
bows to the universe in general, to see if the 
way were clear for him to go to the fence. No- 
thing is so good to bring birds into sight as an 
old fence or a dead tree. On the single leafless 
branch at the top of an old apple-tree the stu- 
dent will generally see, at one time or another, 
every bird in an orchard. 

This dead tree of the locust group was the 
regular perch of "the loneliest of its kind," the 
phoebe, whose big chuckle-head and high shoul- 
ders gave him the look of an old man, bent with 
age. His outline one could never mistake, even 
though he were but a silhouette against the sky. 
One of these birds could nearly always be seen 
on the lowest branch pursuing his business of 
flycatcher, and I learned more of the singularly 
reserved creature than I ever knew before. I 
found, contrary to my expectation, that he had 
a great deal to say for himself, aside from the 
professional performance at the peak of the barn 
roof which gives him his name. 

" Phoebe is all it has to say 
In plaintive cadence o'er and o'er/' 

sings the poet, but he had not so close acquaint- 
ance with him as I enjoyed behind my blind. 
There were two mud cottages in the neighbor- 
hood, and two pairs of birds to occupy them, and 



DBOLL ANTICS OF A PHGEBE. 225 

no phcebe of spirit will tolerate in silence an- 
other o£ his kind near him. Sparrows of all 
sorts might come about; juncos and chickadees, 
thrushes and warblers, might alight on his 
chosen tree, — rarely a word would he say ; but 
let a phoebe appear, and there began at once a 
war of words. It might be mere friendly talk, 
but it sounded very much like vituperation and 
''calling names," and I noticed that it ended in 
a chase and the disappearance of one of them. 

Again, whenever a phoebe alighted on the 
fence he made a low but distinct remark that 
sounded marvelously like "cheese-it," and sev- 
eral times the mysterious bird treated me to a 
very singular performance. He hovered like a 
humming-bird close before a nest, looking into 
it and uttering a loud strange cry, like the last 
note of "phoebe" repeated rapidly, as "be-be- 
be." Was it derision, complaint, or a mere 
neighborly call ? This was not for the benefit 
of his own family, for he did it before the 
robin's nest. I thought at first he meant mis- 
chief to the young robins, but although he ap- 
proached very near he did not actually touch 
them. 

The loudest note this bird uttered was, of 
course, his well-known "phoebe," which he de- 
livered from the peak of the barn (never from 
the dead tree) with an emphasis that proclaimed 



226 FBOM MY WINDOW, 

to all whom it might concern that he had some- 
thing on his mind. It was plain that he was a 
person of cares ; indeed, his whole bearing was 
that of one with no nonsense about him, with 
serious duties to perform. I wonder if these 
birds are ever playful ! Even the babies are 
dignified and self-contained. Phoebes in a frolic 
would be a rare sight. Of the two nests whose 
owners I had to study, one was on a low beam 
in the cow-barn, where a person might look in; 
the other under the eaves of a farm-building 
close by. 

The special policeman of the group and its 
environs was a robin, who lived in a two-story 
nest under the eaves of the hay-barn. This 
bird, after the manner of his family, constituted 
himself regulator and dictator. He lived in 
peace with the ordinary residents, but took it 
upon himself to see that no stranger showed his 
head near the spot. He chased the crow black- 
bird who happened to fly over on business of his 
own, and by calls for help brought the whole 
robin population about the ears of the intruder. 
He also headed the mob of redbreasts that de- 
scended one morning upon a meek-looking half- 
grown kitten, who chanced to cast its innocent 
eyes upon a robin baby under the trees on an- 
other side of the house. The youngster could 
fly with ease, but he preferred to stay on the 



THE GEEAT-CREST. 227 

ground, for lie quickly returned there when I 
put him on a low branch; and when a robin 
makes up his mind, arguments are useless. 
The same robin bullied the red-headed wood- 
pecker, and flew at the kingbird when he 
brought his young family up to taste the rasp- 
berries. 

One visitor there was, however, to the fence 
and the locusts whom Master Robin did not mo- 
lest. When a prolonged, incisive "pu-eep" in 
the martial and inspiring tone of the great- 
crested fly-catcher broke the silence, I observed 
that the robin always had plenty of his own 
business to attend to. I admire this beautiful 
bird, perhaps because he is the inveterate en- 
emy of the house sparrow, and almost the only 
one who actually keeps that little bully in his 
proper place. There is to me something pleas- 
ing in the bearing of the great-crest, who, 
though of few inches, carries himself in a man- 
ner worthy of an eagle. Even the play of a 
pair of them on the tops of the tallest dead trees 
in the woods, though merry enough with loud 
joyful cries, has a certain dignity and circum- 
spection about it uncommon in so small a bird. 

A pair of great -crests were frequent visitors 
to the fence, where they were usually very quiet. 
But one day as the male flew over from the 
woods, his call was answered by a loud-voiced 



228 FBOM MY WINDOW. 

canary, whose cage hung all summer outside the 
kitchen door. The stranger alighted on a tree, 
apparently astonished to be challenged, but he 
replied at once. The canary, who was out of 
sight on the other side of the cottage, answered, 
and the droll conversation was kept up for some 
time ; the woods bird turning his head this way 
and that, eager to see his social neighbor, but 
unable, of course, to do so. 

A little later in the season, when baby birds 
began to fly about, the locust group became even 
more attractive. Its nearness to the woods, as 
already mentioned, made it convenient for forest 
birds, and its seclusion and supply of food were 
charms they could not resist. First of the fledg- 
lings to appear were a family of crow blackbirds, 
four of them with their parents. These are the 
least interesting feathered young people I know, 
but the parents are among the most devoted. 
They keep their little flock together, and work 
hard to fill their mouths. The low cry is husky, 
but insistent, and they flutter their wings with 
great energy, holding them out level with the 
back. 

After berries began to ripen, the woodpeckers 
came to call on us. In my walk in the woods in 
the morning, I frequently brought home a 
branch of elder with two or three clusters of ber- 
ries, which I hung in the small dead tree. In 



TEE LOWNY BABY, 229 

that way I drew some of the woods birds about. 
The downy woodpecker was one of my first call- 
ers. He came with a sharp '^ chit-it-it," hung 
upon the clusters, occasionally head down, and 
picked and ate as long as he liked. The vigi- 
lant robin would sometimes fly at him, and he 
would leave; but in a moment back he came, 
and went on with his repast. When the care of 
an infant fell to him, he brought his charge to 
the source of supplies. A farm wagon hap- 
pened to stand near the dead tree, and on this 
the young woodpecker alighted, and stood 
humped up and quiet while his parent went to 
the berries, picked several for himself, and then 
proceeded to feed him. This young person was 
very circumspect in his behavior. He did not 
flutter nor cry, in the usual bird-baby manner, 
but received his food with perfect composure. 
Berries, however, seemed to be new to him, and 
he did not appear to relish them, for after tast- 
ing two or three he flew away. In spite of this 
he came again the next day, and then he flew 
over to a cluster himself, and hung, back down, 
while he ate. He was charming with his sweet 
low chatter, and very lovely in plumage, white 
as snow, with dark markings clear and soft. 

One of the prettiest of our guests was a young 
chestnut-sided warbler. He looked much bigger 
than his papa, as warbler babies often do ; but 



230 FROM MY WINDOW. 

that is probably because the young bird is not 
accustomed to his suit of feathers, and does not 
know how to manage them. Some of them ap- 
pear like a child in his grandfather's coat. The 
chestnut-sided warbler was himself an attractive 
little fellow, with a generous desire to help in 
the world's work pleasant to see in bird or man. 
After becoming greatly interested in one we had 
seen in the woods, who insisted on helping a 
widowed redstart feed her youngster, and had 
almost to fight the little dame to do so, we found 
another chestnut-sided warbler engaged in help- 
ing his fellows. Whether it were the same 
bird we could not tell; we certainly discovered 
him in the same corner of the woods. This lit- 
tle fellow was absorbed in the care of an infant 
more than twice as big as himself. ''A cowbird 
baby!" will exclaim every one who knows the 
habit, shameful from our point of view, of the 
cowbird, to impose her infants on her neighbors 
to hatch and bring up. But this baby, unfor- 
tunately for the "wisdom of the wise," did not 
resemble the cowbird family. 

We saw the strange pair several times in the 
woods, and then one day, as I sat at my window 
trying to write, I heard a new cry, and saw a 
strange bird fly to the fence. He was very rest- 
less, ran along the top board, then flew to an- 
other fence, scrambled along a few feet, raising 



THE ADOPTED INFANT. 231 

and lowering his tail, and all the time uttering 
a husky two-note baby-cry. While I was strug- 
gling to keep him in the field of my glass long 
enough to note his points, he went to the dead 
tree, when the philosophical phoebe sitting there 
took his case in hand, and made a dash for him. 
The stranger flew straight over the house, with 
his assailant in close chase. But in a moment I 
heard the baby-cry in a maple beside the cottage, 
while the phoebe calmly returned to his post and 
gave his mind again to his flycatching. The 
young bird was not in range from the window, 
but when, a few seconds later, I heard the feed- 
ing-cry, I could no longer resist the desire to see 
him, 

I forgot my caution, and rushed out of the 
house, for I suspected that this uneasy visitor 
was the chestnut-sided 's adopted charge. So I 
found it. There stood the infant, big and 
clumsy by comparison, calling, calling, forever 
calling ; and stretching up on tiptoe, as it were, 
to reach him was the poor little warbler, trying 
to stop his mouth by stuffing him. The foster- 
parent lingered as if he were weary, and his 
plumage looked as if he had not dressed it for a 
week. But the insatiate beggar gave him no 
peace; with the swallowing of the last morsel 
began his cry for more. Again, standing within 
ten feet of him, I noticed the young bird's 



232 FROM MY WINDOW. 

points, and again I was convinced that he was 
not a cowbird baby. 

The curious antics of a solemn kingbird, 
who did not suspect his hidden observer, were 
droll to look upon. He seemed to be alone on 
the fence, though some silent spectator may have 
been hidden behind the leaves. He mounted 
suddenly straight up in the air, with cries, 
twenty feet or more, then soared down with a 
beautiful display of his plumage. This he did 
many times in succession, with an indescribably 
conscious air, and at last he dropped behind 
some tall grass in the pasture. It looked ex- 
ceedingly like "showing off," and who could 
imagine a kingbird in that role ! 

But all flourishes were over when, somewhat 
later, he brought his lovely little family of three 
to the fence to be treated to berries. It was in- 
teresting to see a flycatcher take his fruit "on 
the wing," as it were; that is, fly at it, seize it, 
and jerk it off without alighting. The phcebe 
picked berries in the same way, when he occa- 
sionally condescended to investigate the attrac- 
tion that brought so many strangers into his 
quiet corner. 

The young kingbirds were sweet and chatty 
among themselves, and they decidedly approved 
the berries; but they never lost sight of each 
other, and kept close together, the little com- 



VISITORS TO THE FENCE. 233 

pany of three, as I have seen other kingbirds do. 
One day they came in the rain, feathers all in 
locks, showing the dark color next the skin, 
and looking like beggars in "rags and tags," 
but they were as cheerful and as clannish as ever. 

To the locust group, too, came the red-headed 
woodpeckers ; at first the parents, who talked to 
each other in whispered "kr-r-r-r's," and carried 
off many a sweet morsel to their family in the 
woods; later, one youngster, who took posses- 
sion of the fence with the calm assurance of his 
race, and when I left the place had apparently 
established himself there for the season. 

Many others alighted on the fence ; the junco, 
with his pretty brown bantling and his charming 
little trilling song ; the crow baby, with its funny 
ways and queer cry of "ma-a-a; " the redstart, 
who 

" Folds and unfolds his twinkling tail in sport; " 

the flicker mamma, with her "merry pitter-pat- 
ter " and her baby as big as herself. Even the 
sapsucker from the lawn had somehow heard the 
news that a feast was spread near the locusts, 
and came over to see. 

Birds were not the only frequenters of the 
fence and the berry bushes. There were squir- 
rels, gray and red, and chipmunks, who sat up 
pertly on a post, with two little paws laid upon 
their heart in theatrical attitude, as who should 



234 FROM MY WINDOW. 

say, "Be still, my heart," while they looked the 
country over to see if any lurking member of 
the human family were about. The red squir- 
rels were the most amusing, for they were very 
frolicsome, indulging in mad chases over and 
under the fence, through the trees, around the 
trunks, so rapidly that they resembled a red 
streak more than little beasts. 

One squirrel adopted the fence as his regular 
highway, and the high post of the farm gate as 
his watch-tower. He often sunned himself, lying 
on his face, with his legs and his tail spread out 
as flat as if he had been smashed. His presence 
scared the birds from the neighborhood, and I 
undertook to discourage him. I went out one 
day when I saw him near the fence. The squir- 
rel made up his mind to pass over the gate and 
get into the locust, but I posted myself quite 
near, and he did not like to pass me. Giving 
up his plan is no part of a squirrel's intention, 
however, and every moment he would scramble 
up a few feet one side of me, with the design of 
running past me. As soon as his sharp black 
eyes showed above the top board I cried " Shoo ! " 
He understood my motion, and doubtless would 
if I had said "Scat!" or "Get out!" (What 
should one say to a squirrel ?) 

He dashed behind his barricade and disap- 
peared. But he did not "stay put;" in two 



A SqUIRBEL EPISODE. 235 

seconds he tried it again, and again his discour- 
aging reception drove him back. He grew 
wary, however, and pretty soon I began to no- 
tice that every time he made his dash to the top 
he was a few inches nearer the gate, which 
stretched like a bridge from the fence to the lo- 
cust-tree, and of course so much nearer me. At 
last, advancing thus inch by inch, he came up 
close to the gate, so near I could have put my 
hand on him, — that is, I could have put my 
hand on the place he occupied, for he did not 
stay to be caressed; he flew across the gate, 
sprang three or four feet into the tree, and was 
out of sight before I could lift a finger. This 
passage having been successfully made, he felt 
that he was safe, and could afford to be saucy. 
He began the usual scold. Then I tossed a little 
stick up toward him, as a reminder that human 
power is not limited by the length of an arm, 
and he subsided. 

Once when he came up to the fence top, be- 
fore his grand dash, I laughed at him. Strange 
to say, this made him furious. He reviled me 
vehemently. No doubt, if I had understood his 
language, I should have been covered with con- 
fusion, for I confess that he could make a very 
good point against me. What business had I, 
an interloper in his dominion, to interfere with 
his rights, or to say whether he should dine off 
birds or berries? 



XXIII. 

THE COMICAL CROW BABY. 

Nothing in the world of feathers is so comi- 
cal as a crow baby, with its awkward bows and 
ungainly hops, its tottering steps on the fence 
and its mincing, tight-boot sort of gait on the 
ground, its eager fluttering when it has hopes of 
food, and its loud and unintermitting demand 
for the same. 

My window overlooked a long stretch of cattle 
pastures and meadows still uncut, bounded on 
one side by woods, and in the middle of this 
valley un visited by man, the crows of the neigh- 
borhood established a training school for their 
youngsters. A good glass let me in as unsus- 
pected audience, and I had views of many in- 
teresting family scenes, supposed by the wary 
parents to be visible only to the cows stolidly 
feeding on the hillside. In this way I had all 
the fun and none of the trouble of the training 
business. 

It is astonishing how completely the manner 
of the adult crow is lacking in his young off- 
spring, whose only external difference is the 



STRANGE CBY OF THE CROW. 237 

want of a tail. Must we then conclude tliat the 
dignity of a bird depends upon the length of his 
tail? We are accustomed to regard the crow as 
a grave and solemn personage with a serious role 
in life; and indeed life is such a constant war- 
fare to him that I cannot see how he finds any 
enjoyment in it. Lowell says of him at one 
period: — 

" The crow is very comical as a lover, and to 
hear him try to soften his croak to the proper 
Saint Preux standard has something the effect 
of a Mississippi boatman quoting Tennyson." 

If he is droll as a lover, he is much more en- 
tertaining as an infant. The first I knew of the 
new use of the pasture, I heard one morning a 
strange cry. It was loud and persistent, and 
sounded marvelously like " Ma-a ! Ma-a ! " Min- 
gled with it I heard the vigorous cries of crows. 

I looked over into the pasture, and there I 
first saw the crow baby, nearly as big and black 
as his mamma, but with no tail to speak of. He 
sat — not stood — on the rail fence, bawling at 
the top of his hoarse baby-voice, ''Ma! Ma! 
Ma!" and as he grew impatient he uttered it 
faster and faster and louder and louder, draw- 
ing in his breath between the cries, and making 
it more like ''Wah! Wah! " Whenever mamma 
flew over he followed her movement with his 
eyes, turning his head, and showing an eager, 



238 THE COMICAL CROW BABY, 

almost painful interest, till some one took pity 
on him and fed him. As he saw food approach- 
ing his voice ran up several tones higher, in 
laughable imitation of a human baby cry. This 
note is of course the promise of a "caw," but 
the a is flattened to the sound of a in bar, which 
makes it a ludicrous caricature of our own first 
utterances. 

But sometimes mamma did not heed the cries, 
and sailed calmly by, alighting a few rails be- 
yond her hungry infant, though he held out his 
fluttering wings in the bird-baby's begging way, 
exactly as does a young warbler who would n't 
be a mouthful for him. Then the little fellow 
would start up on unsteady legs, to walk the rail 
to reach her, balancing himself with outspread 
wings, and when he got beside her, put his 
beak to hers in a coaxing way that I don't see 
how any mother could resist. But this wise 
dame had evidently hardened her heart. She 
probably wanted him to learn to help liimseK, 
for she dropped to the ground, and went wading 
about in the wet grass and mud, and at length 
flew off without giving him a morsel. Then the 
disappointed youngster cuddled up to a brother 
crow baby, and both lifted up their voices and 
lamented the emptiness of the cold, cold world. 

Perhaps the most comical performance of this 
clumsy baby was his way of alighting on a fence 



TRYING TO LEARN. 239 

when he had been flying. He seized the board 
with his claws, which clung for dear life, while 
his body went on as it was going, with the re- 
sult almost of a somersault. He tried to learn, 
however. He made great efforts to master 
the vagaries of fences, the irregularities of the 
ground, the peculiarities of branches. He per- 
sistently walked the rail fence, though he had to 
spread both wings to keep his balance. Then 
he climbed to the top of the rail which stood up 
a1> the corners, and maintained his position with 
great effort, but never gave up the attempt. 

These interesting young folks dote on fences, 
after they get used to them, and not having 
learned to recognize them as devices of the en- 
emy, capable of concealing a trap of some sort, 
they will come quite near a house when they see 
no one about. So I, behind my blind, had ex- 
cellent chance to watch their ways. For 1 try 
to keep my window view good by contenting 
myself with what I can see from it, and never 
going out to give the birds a notion that they 
must look out for visitors. 

One day when the grass had been cut from 
the meadow before the house, and I had en- 
camped under the shade of a big maple to see 
how the kingbirds were coming on in nesting, I 
noticed a young crow walking in the hot stubble, 
trying to find something to eat. He wandered 



240 THE COMICAL CROW BABY, 

about looking in vain to see something attrac- 
tive. A robin who was also engaged in a food- 
hunt came and "took his measure," looking 
sharply at him as if to decide whether it was his 
duty to go for him. He plainly recognized the 
youthfulness of the intruder, for after a mo- 
ment's study he passed on, attending to his own 
business, while the young crow stared at him in 
open-mouthed curiosity. At last the crow baby 
picked up an object — I could not tell what — 
which hung from his beak while he balanced 
the probabilities of its being good, aiding his de- 
liberations by a gentle lift of the wings which 
looked like a shrug of the shoulders. He de- 
cided to risk it, and swallowed, but instantly 
choked it up, and for some time shook his head 
as if to get rid of even the memory of it. When, 
a few minutes after this disastrous experience, 
he heard another baby utter the cries that in- 
dicate being fed, it seemed to suggest to him an 
easier way of getting satisfaction out of life. 
He spread his wings, flew to a tree and began 
to call. 

To be a crow mamma is no sinecure. My 
heart went out to the poor souls who must be 
torn between anxiety for their dear "cantanker- 
ous " offspring, and fear of their deadly enemy, 
man. I watched with deep interest their method 
of training. One day I saw a baby get an ob- 



THE YOUNG CROW'S LESSONS, 241 

ject lesson In his proper attitude toward man- 
kind, in this way. An old and a young crow 
were nearer the house than usual, and I walked 
down toward the fence to see why. The instant 
my head appeared, the elder flew with terrific 
outcry, for which of course I did not blame the 
poor creature, since mankind has proved itself 
her bitterest foe. The infant was nearly fright- 
ened to death, and followed as quickly as his 
awkward wings would carry him. I do not like 
to figure as "Rawhead and bloody -bones " in the 
nursery of even a crow baby, so I tried several 
times to redeem the bad name of my race. But 
to no avail; that subtle mamma had acquired 
her wisdom by experience, and she knew me as 
one of a species quite capable of murdering an 
innocent crow baby. 

I was interested to see the young family in 
the pasture taking lessons in following, or flying 
in a flock. There was great excitement and 
calling, and all flew, excepting one, who stood 
quietly on a big stone by himself. They simply 
circled around and alighted again, so it plainly 
was only an exercise. But the baby who did 
not learn the lesson and follow, was punished 
by one of the grown-ups, who flew directly 
against him on the return, and knocked him off 
his perch; the hint was taken, and the next time 
they flew no one stayed behind. 



242 THE COMICAL CROW BABY. 

Day by day the excitement in the crow world 
grew, and new families appeared in the pasture 
as fast as old ones got out. The rails of the 
fence were always occupied by young ones — 
though never more than five or six at a time — 
crying and shrieking and calling for "Ma-a!" 
and old ones all the time flying about half dis- 
tracted, cawing and trying, I suppose, to enforce 
some order and discipline among the unruly 
rogues. Order, however, was quite a secondary 
consideration ; the pressing duty of the hour was 
feeding. A crow parent on a foraging expedi- 
tion is a most unwelcome visitor to the farmer 
with young chickens, or the bird-lover interested 
in the fate of nestlings. Yet when I saw the 
persecuted creature in the character of provider 
for four hungry and ever clamorous mouths, to 
whose wants she is as alive as we are to the 
wants of our babies, I took a new view of crow 
depredations, and could not see why her children 
should not have a chicken or a bird for break- 
fast, as well as ours. Poor hunted crow, against 
whom every man's hand is raised! She feels, 
with reason, that every human being is a deadly 
enemy thirsting for her life, that every cylinder 
pointed upward is loaded with death, that every 
string is a cruel snare to entangle and maim 
her, — yet whose offspring, dear as ours to us, 
clamor for food. How should she know that it 



TWO SIDES TO THE CROW QUESTION. 243 

is wrong to eat chickens ; or that robin babies 
were made to live and grow up, and crow babies 
to die of starvation ? The farmer ignores the mil- 
lions of insects she destroys, and shoots her for 
the one chicken she takes, though she has been 
amply proved to be one of his most valuable ser- 
vants. The kingbird and the oriole worry her 
life out of her because her babies like eggs — as 
who does not ! 

In fact, there are, emphatically, two sides to 
the crow question, and I take the side of the 
crow. 



XXIV. 

A MIDSUMMER WOOING. 

The "sweet June days " had passed, and bird 
nesting was nearly at an end. Woods and fields 
were bubbling over with young bird notes, and 
the pretty cradles on tree and shrub were empty 
and deserted. A few motherly souls, it is true, 
were still occupied with their second broods, 
but, in general, feathered families were complete, 
and the parents were busy training their little 
folk for life. 

One bird, however, the charming, sweet- 
voiced goldfinch, 

"All black and gold, a flame of fire," 

still held aloof, as is his custom. He does not 
follow the fashion of his fellows ; he resists the 
allurements of the nesting month; he waits. 
Whether it be for a late -coming insect necessary 
to the welfare of his nestlings, or for the thistle 
silk which alone makes fit cushion for his deli- 
cate spouse and her "wee babies," opinions differ. 
But though goldfinch nests were not set up, 
goldfinch wooing went on with enthusiasm; the 



BIBD MYSTERIES, 245 

summer air rang with sweetest song, and tlie 
graceful wavelike flight charmed us from morn- 
ing till night. The courtship of the bird of July 
is a beautiful sight. He is at all times pecu- 
liarly joyous, but at this season his little body 
seems hardly able to contain him ; so great is his 
rapture, indeed, that it infects and inspires the 
most matter-of-fact student. Our bird-loving 
poet Celia Thaxter must have seen him in loverly 
mood when she thus addressed him : — 

" Where do you hide such a store of delight, 
O delicate creature, tiny and slender, 
Like a mellow morning- sunbeam brig-ht, 
Overflowing" with music tender ? " 

At all hours of these enchanted days, whether 
fair or foul, the winsome little fellows were fly- 
ing hither and thither, singing and calling in 
ecstatic tones, bounding through the air, and 
hardly pausing long enough to eat. July was 
fast slipping away when the excitement deep- 
ened and matters grew more serious. Then the 
observer, if he were wary, might catch occa- 
sional glimpses of puzzling scenes, mysteries of 
bird life that could not be unraveled because he 
did not see the whole. 

At one time the student came upon a scene 
like this: Two or three of the little dames in 
olive and gold hopping about on an evergreen 
tree, ostensibly eating, calling, in their enticing 



246 A MIDSUMMER WOOING. 

voices, "sw-e-e-t!" and to all appearance un- 
conscious of the presence of two of their bright 
young wooers, sitting in perfect silence on an 
upper branch. Suddenly from this happy party 
one of the damsels flew, when instantly one of 
the black-winged suitors flashed out in pursuit. 
On she went, flying madly, encircled one tree, 
dashed to another, and around that, passed up 
and down, here and there, this way and that, 
but everywhere with her follower close after her, 
singing at the top of his voice, till they disap- 
peared in the distance. 

Can the goldfinch wooing be a sort of Co- 
manche affair? Is the little bride won by force ? 
Or is she, perchance, like some of her sisters 
of larger growth, who require a "scene" of 
some sort to make them "name the day "? 

Again, attracted by loud eager singing, the 
student found a pair who were apparently fight- 
ing, — the peaceful goldfinch ! They flew up close 
together, they almost clinched, then flew away 
to a group of trees, under, over, around, be- 
tween, through, and beyond they went, never 
six inches apart, and he singing furiously all the 
time. At last, just as the looker-on expected to 
see them grapple, they calmly alighted on a tree 
eight or ten feet from each other. Nothing but 
a frolic, obviously ! 

Another curious performance of this July 



LINGERING LOVE AFFAIRS. 247 

wooing was several times noted. Hearing a 
strange and unfamiliar cry, in a tone of distress, 
I drew cautiously near, and found, on a low 
branch, one of the goldfinch maidens, uttering 
the plaintive notes, which, by the way, were 
afterwards very common about the nests. She 
held in her beak something which might be a 
tiny green worm, or a bit of nesting material, 
and she called constantly, looking about this 
way and that, as if seeking some one. After a 
while a male goldfinch appeared on the next tree, 
but he did not act in the least as if invited by 
her call. He seemed merely to be interested as 
any bird would be by her evident excitement. 
He watched her calmly, but did not offer to 
follow when at last she flew. 

Time, true to his reputation, was hurrying 
away even these sweet summer days, and still 
the love affairs of our little beauties seemed no 
nearer settlement than at first. In the opinion 
of impatient observers, their wooing was as long 
drawn out as that of Augustus and Araminta 
in an old-fashioned three-volume novel. Their 
manners, too, ludicrously suggested the beha- 
vior of the bigger pair ; first he would follow her 
about, sing to her, parade himself, and show off ; 
then she coquetted, and charmed him with her 
bewitching and altogether indescribable call, 
"sw-e-e-t." Then they were off in a whirl of 



248 A MIDSUMMER WOOING. 

excitement together, flitting hither and thither, 
singing and dancing through the air, life show- 
ing its rosiest hue. 

All things come to an end — in time. By the 
middle of the month the ecstasies of goldfinch 
youth were toned down, and the presence of 
dainty nests here and there proved that madam 
at least had settled to work, making preparation 
for her long, patient brooding. 

The tall grass in the meadow in front of the 
house was about this time laid low; nodding 
daisies, — white and yellow, — plumy meadow- 
grass and plain timothy, devil's paintbrush and 
soft purple grass flowers, alike lay in long rows 
dying on the ground. Delighted at last to pos- 
sess the places so long tabooed to us by the 
heavy crop, my comrade and I went out the 
next morning on discoveries bent. The nook in 
which we rested after our walk — she on the 
fresh sweet hay in the broad sunshine, and I 
in the shade close by — offered a rare combina- 
tion of seclusion with perfect security. It was 
within call from the verand?., yet completely 
hidden from it by a dense clump of ever- 
greens. 

We had hardly settled ourselves when we no- 
ticed three lively goldfinches frolicking about 
the top of a tall maple-tree not far off. While 
we idly speculated about them, wondering if 



''HAVING EYES THEY SEE NOT.*' 249 

they had no mates, and if the goldfinches were 
not going to build this year, the eyes of my 
friend, who was lying on the ground, fell upon 
the nest. It was near the end of a lower branch 
of the maple, ten or twelve feet from the ground, 
and the little dame was at that moment working 
upon it. She was so deeply absorbed in her 
occupation that she did not even notice us, and 
we studied her movements with interest, till the 
haymakers came with wagon and oxen, and much 
talking and shouting, to gather up their fra- 
grant loads, which on that side of the field stood 
in small stacks all ready. 

Once again, in spite of long experience, I was 
amazed to see how deaf and blind are people to 
what goes on about them. "We see only that 
which concerns us," says some one, and since 
the farmer, with whole mind bent upon making 
a firm and symmetrical load, did not concern 
himself with bird affairs, goldfinch work went 
on without hindrance. The half -loaded wagon 
paused under the chosen branch, where the man 
could have laid his hand upon the nest, but the 
small builder went in and out, calling and flut- 
tering around as freely as if he were not there. 
As a matter of fact he was not, for though his 
body was near, he was down in the hay, and he 
never heard or saw the bird. 

We kept watch of the fateful branch, ready 



250 A MIDSUMMEB WOOING, 

to protect it if necessary, till the train moved 
off, and then we went home congratulating our- 
selves on possessing the goldfinch's precious 
secret, planning to spend a part of every morn- 
ing in studying her ways. 

"Man proposes," but many things ''dispose." 
The next morning revealed another tragedy. 
The dainty nest, so laboriously built, was found 
a wreck, the whole of one side pulled out and 
hanging over the branch, while the soft cushion 
of silky white thistle-down, an inch thick, lay 
on the grass below. The culprit we could not 
discover, for he had left no trace. It might 
be a squirrel ; it certainly looked like the work 
of his strong claws ; but, on the other hand, it 
might be the sparrow-hawk who had made the 
meadow his daily hunting-ground since the mys- 
terious disaster to the kingbird's nest had de- 
prived us of the police services of that vigilant 
bird. Probably a squirrel was the culprit, for 
the hawk appeared only after the grass was cut, 
and grasshoppers and other insects were left 
without shelter, and he seemed to give his entire 
attention to the grass at the foot of the flagpole 
on which he always perched. 

Whoever was guilty of the cruel deed, it 
added one more to the list of ravaged nests, and 
of all that we watched that summer exactly half 
had been broken up or destroyed. 



BETTER HIDDEN THE SECOND TIME. 251 

I am happy to say that the little pair were 
not utterly discouraged, for a day or two later 
we found the provident mistress carefully draw- 
ing out of the ruin some of the material she had 
woven into it, and carrying it away, doubtless 
to add to a fresh nest. But she had this time 
chosen a more secluded site, that we were unable 
to discover. I hope she did not credit us with 
her disaster. 



XXV. 

A PLUM-TREE ROMANCE. 

It was just after the catastrophe of the last 
chapter when a pair of goldfinches, whose pretty 
pastoral I hoped to watch, had been robbed and 
driven from their home in a maple-tree that the 
plum-tree romance began. Grieving for their 
sorrow as well as for my loss, I turned my steps 
toward the farmhouse, intending to devote part 
of the day to the baby crows, who were enliven- 
ing the pasture with their droll cries and droller 
actions. But the crow family had the pasture 
to themselves that morning, for in passing 
through the orchard, looking, as always, for in- 
dications of feathered life, I suddenly saw a new 
nest in the top of a plum-tree, and my spirits 
rose instantly when I noticed that the busy little 
architect, at that moment working upon it, was 
a goldfinch. 

What an unfortunate place she had chosen, 
was my first thought. A young tree, a mere 
sapling, not more than eight feet high, close 
beside the regular farm road, where men, and 
worse, two nest-robbing boys, passed forty times 



A BEWITCHING PAIR, 253 

a day. Would the trim little matron, now so 
happy in her plans, have any chance o£ bringing 
up a brood there in plain sight, where, if the 
roving eyes of those youngsters happened to fall 
upon her nest, peace would take its departure 
even if calamity did not overtake her? 

Looking all about, to make sure that no one 
was in sight, I seated myself to make the ac- 
quaintance of my new neighbor. My whole 
study of the life in and around the plum-tree, 
carried on for the next two weeks, was of a 
spasmodic order, for I had always to take care 
that no spies were about before I dared even 
look toward the orchard. One glimpse of me 
in the neighborhood would have disclosed their 
secret to the sharp boys who knew my ways. 

The little dame was bewitching in her man- 
ner, and her handsome young spouse the ihost 
devoted consort I ever saw in feathers, or out of 
them, I may say. Although she alone built the 
nest, he was her constant attendant, and they 
always made their appearance together. He 
dropped into a taller tree — an apple near by 
— while -she, with her beak full of materials, 
alighted on the lowest branch of the plum, and 
hopped gayly from twig to twig, as though they 
were steps, up to the sky parlor where she had 
established her homestead. Then she went 
busily to work to adjust the new matter, while 



254 A PLUM TREE BOMANCE. 

he waited patiently during the ten or fifteen 
minutes she thus occupied. Sometimes he 
seemed to wonder what she could be about all 
this time, for he came and alighted beside her, 
staying only an instant, and then flying with 
the evident expectation that she would follow. 
Usually, however, he remained quietly on guard 
till she left the nest with her joyful call, when 
he joined her, and away they went together, cry- 
ing, "te-o-tum, te! te!" till out of sight and 
hearing. There was a joyousness of manner in 
this pair that gave a festive air to even so pro- 
saic a performance as going for food. The source 
of supplies, as I soon discovered, was a bit of 
neglected ground between a buckwheat patch 
and a barn, where grass and weeds of several 
sorts flourished. Here each bird pulled down 
by its weight a stalk of meadow or other grass, 
and spent some time feasting upon its seeds. 

But madam was a timid little soul; she re- 
minded me constantly of some bigger folk I 
have known. She wanted her gay cavalier al- 
ways within call, and he responded to her de- 
mands nobly, becoming more domestic than one 
would imagine possible for such a restless, light- 
hearted sprite. After the young house-mistress 
settled herself to her sitting, she often lifted her 
head above the edge of her nest, and uttered a 
strangely thrilling and appealing cry, which I 



CHABMING MANNERS. 255 

think is only heard in the nesting-time. He 
always replied instantly, in tenderest tones, and 
came at once, sometimes from the other side of 
the orchard, singing as he flew, and perched in 
the apple - tree. If she wanted his escort to 
lunch, she joined him there, and after exchan- 
ging a few low remarks, they departed together. 
Occasionally, however, she seemed to be merely 
nervous, perhaps about some other bird who she 
fancied might be troublesome, though, in gen- 
eral, neither of the pair paid the slightest atten- 
tion to birds who came about, even upon their 
own little tree. 

Often when the goldfinch came in answer to 
this call of his love, he flew around, at some 
height above the tree, in a circle of thirty or 
forty feet diameter, apparently to search out any 
enemy who might be annoying her. If he saw 
a bird, he drove him off, though in a perfunc- 
tory manner, as if it were done merely in def- 
erence to his lady's wishes, and not from any 
suspicion or jealousy. On these occasions, too, 
he came quite near me, stood fearless and calm, 
and studied me most sharply, doubtless to see if 
my intentions were innocent. Of course I looked 
as amiable and harmless as possible, and in a 
moment he decided that I was not dangerous, 
made some quiet remark to his fussy little part- 
ner, and flew away. 



256 A PLUM-THEE ROMANCE. 

Sometimes this conduct did not reassure the 
imeasy bird, and she called again. Then he 
brought some tidbit in his beak, went to the 
edge of the nest, and fed her. Then she was 
pacified ; but do not mistake her, it was not hun- 
ger that prompted her actions; when she was 
hungry, she openly left her nest and went for 
food. It was, as I am convinced, the longing 
desire to know that he was near her, that he 
was still anxious to serve her, that he had not 
forgotten her in her long absence from his side. 
This may sound a little fanciful to one who has 
not studied birds closely, but she was so ''hu- 
man" in all her actions that I feel justified in 
judging of her motives exactly as I should judge 
had she measured five feet instead of five inches, 
and worn silk instead of feathers. 

The goldfinch need not have worried about 
her mate, for he spent most of his time within 
a few feet of her, and more absolutely loyal 
one could not be. His most common perch was 
a neighboring tree, though in a heavy beating 
rain he frequently crouched on the lowest branch 
of the plum itself. Now and then he rested on 
a pile of boards beside the farm road already 
spoken of, and again he took his post on a very 
tall ash, with only a few limbs at the top, where 
his body looked like a dot against the blue, 
and he could oversee the whole country around. 



RAPTUROUS SINGING. 257 

Wherever he might be, he sat all puffed out, 
silent and motionless, evidently just waiting. 
Sometimes he took occasion to plume himself 
very carefully, oftener he did nothing, but held 
himself in readiness to answer any call from the 
plum-tree, and to accompany the sitter out to 
dinner. 

This bird was an enchanting singer. During 
courtship, and while his mate was sitting, he 
often poured out a song that was nothing less 
than an ecstasy. It was delivered on the wing, 
and not in his usual wave-like manner of flight, 
but sailing slowly around and around, very much 
as a bobolink does, singing rapturously, without 
pause or break. The quality of the music, too, 
was strikingly like bobolink notes, and the whole 
performance was exquisite. 

The little sitter soon became accustomed to 
my presence. When out of her nest, she some- 
times came to the tree over my head, and an- 
swered when I spoke to her. In this way we 
carried on quite a long conversation, I imitating, 
so far as I was able, her own charming "sweet," 
and she replying in varied utterances, which, 
alas ! were Greek to me. 

I longed to watch the lovely and loving pair 
through their nesting; to see their rapture over 
their nestlings, their tender care and training, 
and the first flight of the goldfinch babies. But 



258 A PLUM-TREE^ ROMANCE, 

the inexorable task-master of us all, who pro- 
verbially ''waits for no man," hurried off these 
last precious days of July with painful eager- 
ness, and thrust before me the first of August, 
with the hot and dusty journey set down for that 
day, long before I was ready for it. 

So I did not see the end of their love and 
labor myself, but the bird's wisdom in the selec- 
tion of a site for her nursery was proved to be 
greater than mine, who had ventured to criticise 
her, by the fact that the nest, as I have been 
assured, escaped the young eyes of the neigh- 
borhood, and turned out its full complement of 
birdlings to add to next summer's beauty and 
song. 



XXVI. 

SOLITARY THE THRUSH. 

" Solitary the thrush, 
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, 
Sings by himself a song." 

Thus says the poet, with no less truth than 
beauty. No description could better express 
the spirit of the bird, the retiring habit and the 
love of quiet for which not alone the hermit, but 
the three famous singers of the thrush family 
are remarkable. We should indeed be shocked 
were it otherwise, for there is an indefinable 
quality in the tones of this trio, the hermit, 
wood, and tawny, that stirs the soul to its 
depths, and one can hardly conceive of them as 
mingling their notes with other singers, or be- 
coming in any way familiar. In this peculiar 
power no bird-voice in our part of the world can 
compare with theirs. The brown thrush ranks 
high as a musician, the mocking-bird leads the 
world, in the opinion of its lovers, and the win- 
ter wren thrills one to the heart. Yet no bird 
song so moves the spirit, no other — it seems to 
me — so intoxicates its hearer with rapture, as 



260 SOLITARY THE THBUSH. 

the solemn chant of "the hermit withdrawn to 
himself." 

"Whenever a man hears it," says our devoted 
lover of Nature, Thoreau, "he is young, and 
Nature is in her spring ; wherever he hears it 
there is a new world, and the gates of heaven 
are not shut against him." 

One might quote pages of rhapsody from poets 
and prose writers, yet to him who has not drunk 
of the enchantment, they would be but words ; 
they would touch no chord that had not already 
been thrilled by the marvelous strain itself. 

My first acquaintance in the beautiful family 
was the wood-thrush, and the study of his charms 
of voice and character filled me with love for 
the whole bird tribe. He frequented the places 
I also preferred, the quiet nooks and out of the 
way corners of a large city park. At that time 
I thought no bird note on earth could equal his ; 
but a year or two later, on the shore of Lake 
George, I fell under the magical sway of another 
voice, whose few notes were exceedingly simple 
in arrangement, but full of the strangely thrill- 
ing power characteristic of the thrush family. 

Four years passed, at first in search of the 
owner of the "wandering voice" that had be- 
witched me, and when I had found it to be the 
tawny thrush or veery , in study of the attractive 
singer himself, which made me an enthusiastic 



A DISAPPOINTING SEARCH, 261 

lover of him also. But the "shy and hidden" 
bird, the hermit, enthroned by those who know 
him far above the others, I had rarely seen and 
never clearly heard. Far-off snatches I had 
gathered, a few of the louder notes had reached 
me from distant woods, or from far up the moun- 
tain side ; but I had never been satisfied. 

There appeared almost a fatality about my 
hearing this bird. No matter how common his 
song in the neighborhood, no sooner did I go 
there than he retired to the secluded recesses of 
his choice. He always had "just been singing," 
but had mysteriously stopped. My search was 
much longer than, and quite as disappointing 
as Mr. Burroughs's search through English lanes 
for a singing nightingale. 

Last spring one of the strongest attractions 
that drew me to a lovely spot in Northern New 
York was the assurance that the hermit was a 
constant visitor. I went, and the same old 
story met me. Before this year the hermit had 
always been with them. The song of the veery 
was my morning and evening inspiration, but 
his shy brother had apparently taken his depar- 
ture for parts unknown. 

"We will go to Sunset Hill," said my friend. 
"We always hear them there at sunset." 

That evening after an early tea, we started for 
the promised land. The single-file procession 



262 SOLITARY THE THRUSH. 

through the charming wood paths consisted of 
our host as protector on the return in the dark, 
the big dog — his mistress's body-guard — his 
mistress, an enthusiastic bird-lover, and myself. 

The road was all the way through the woods, 
then lovely with the glow of the western sun, 
which reached far under the branches, gilded 
the trunks of the trees, and made a fresh pic- 
ture at every turn. At the further side of the 
woods was a grass-covered hill which we as- 
cended, eager to treat our eyes to the sunset, 
and our ears to the hermit songs. The sun went 
down serenely, without a cloud to reflect his 
glory, but the whole pleasant country at our feet 
was illuminated by his parting rays. 

And hark! a hermit began "air-o-ee ! " In- 
stantly everything else was forgotten, although 
the bird was far away. 

"He will come nearer," whispered my com- 
rade, and we waited in silence. Several singers 
were within hearing, but all at a tantalizing re- 
moteness that allowed us to hear the louder 
notes, and constantly to realize what we were 
losing. 

We lingered, loath to abandon hope, till the 
deepening shadows reminded us of the woods to 
be passed through; but no bird came nearer 
than that maddening distance. In despair we 
turned our faces homeward at last; several 



A WORLD FULL OF BABIES. 263 

times on the way we paused, lured by an ec- 
static note, but every one too far off to be com- 
pletely heard. 

In our quiet walk back through the dark 
woods I accepted my evident fate, that I was 
not to be blessed with hermit music this season ; 
but I made a private resolve to find next year a 
"hermit neighborhood," where birds should be 
warranted to sing, if I had to take a tent and 
camp out in a swamp. 

June passed away in delightful bird-study, 
and July followed quickly. Nests and songs in 
plenty rewarded our search. Every day had 
been full. Nothing had been wanting to fill our 
cup of content, except the longed-for song of the 
hermit ; and I had been so absorbed I had al- 
most ceased to regret it. 

With the last days of July everything was 
changed about us. The world was full of bird 
babies. Infant voices rang out from every 
tangle; flutters of baby wings stirred every 
bush; the woods echoed to anxious ''pips," and 
"smacks, "and "quits," of uneasy parents work- 
ing for dear life. We had been so occupied 
with our study of these charming youngsters, 
that we bethought ourselves, only as one after 
another strange warbler appeared upon the scene, 
that migrating time had arrived, the wonderful 
procession to the summer-land had begun. 



7 



264 SOLITARY THE THRUSH, 

This, alas ! I could not stay to see. And If 
one must go, it were better to take leave before 
getting entangled in the toils of the warblers, 
to be driven wild by the numberless shades of 
yellow and olive, to go frantic over stripes and 
spots, and bars, and to wear out patience and 
the Manual, trying to discover what particular 
combination of Latin syllables scientists have 
bestowed upon this or that flitting atom in feath- 
ers. Before the student is out of bed, a new 
warbler-note will distract her; in the twilight 
some tiny bird will fly over her head with an un- 
familiar twitter ; each and every one will rouse 
her to eager desire to see it, to name it. 

Why have we such a rage for labeling and 
cataloguing the beautiful things of Nature? 
Why can I not delight in a bird or flower, know- 
ing it by what it is to me, without longing to 
know what it has been to some other person? 
What pleasure can it afford to one not making 
a scientific study of birds to see such names as 
"the blue and yellow-throated warbler," "the 
chestnut-headed golden warbler," "the yellow- 
bellied, red-poll warbler," attached to the small- 
est and daintiest beauties of the woods ? 

Musing upon this and other mysteries, I fol- 
lowed my friend up the familiar paths one day, 
looking for some young birds whose strange cries 
we had noted. It was a gray morning, and all 



A SEA OF JEWEL-WEED. 265 

the tree trunks were grim and dark, witli no va- 
riety in coloring. The sounds we were follow- 
ing led us through some unused roads entirely 
grown up with jewel-weed, part of it five feet 
high, and thickly hung with the yellow flower 
from which it takes its name. 

It had rained in the night, and every leaf was 
adorned with minute drops like gems. We 
parted the stems carefully and passed through, 
though it seemed to us like wading in deep 
water, and, in spite of our caution, we were 
well sprinkled from the dripping leaves. Just as 
we stepped out of our green sea, the low calls we 
were trying to locate ceased. We walked slowly 
on until we were attracted by a rustling in the 
dry leaves, and then we turned to see two young 
thrushes foraging about in silence by themselves. 
They were not very shy, but looked aj- us with 
innocent baby eyes as we drew near and exam- 
ined them. We saw the color and the markings 
and the peculiar movement of the tail character- 
istic of the hermit. There could be no doubt 
that these were hermit babies. We were de- 
lighted to see them. I never feel that I know a 
bird family till I have seen the young. But my 
pleasure was sadly marred by the reflection that 
where there were babies must have been a nest 
and a singer, and we had not heard his voice. 

The last Sunday of my stay came, all too soon. 



266 SOLITARY THE THRUSH. 

It was a glorious day, and, as usual, the two 
bird-lovers turned their steps toward the woods. 
Everything seemed at rest and silent. We 
paused a while in a part of the forest in which 
we had seen some strange phases of bird life, 
and had christened the "Bewitched Corner." 
A gentle breeze set all the leaves to fluttering ; 
far off a woodpecker drummed his salute to his 
fellows; beyond the trees we could hear the 
indigo bird singing; but nothing about us was 
stirring. The wood-pewee was unheard, and 
even the vireo seemed to have finished his end- 
less song and gone his way. 

We passed on a few rods to a favorite rest- 
ing place of our daily rounds, where my com- 
rade always liked to stretch herself upon the big 
bole of a fallen tree in the broad sunshine, and 
I to sea^ myself at the foot of another tree in 
the shade. It was a spot 

" where hours went their way 
As softly as sweet dreams go down the night." 

As we approached this place a sound reached 
us that struck us dumb ; it was a hermit thrush 
not far off. Silently we stole up the gentle hill 
and seated ourselves. 

"At last! at last! " I cried in my heart, as I 
leaned back against my tree to listen. 

Then the glorious anthem began again ; it rose 
and swelled upon the air ; it filled the woods, — 



THE SONG AT LAST. 267 

*' And up by mystical chords of song 

The soul was lifted from care and pain.'' 

Though not in sight, the bird was quite near, 
so that we heard every note, so enchanting ! so 
inimitable ! For ten or fifteen minutes he 
poured out the melody, while our hearts fairly 
stood still. Then he stopped, and we heard the 
thrush "chuck" and the hermit call, which is 
different from other thrushes, being something 
between a squawk and a mew. Whether this 
were his conversation with his mate we could 
only guess, for we dared not move, hardly in- 
deed to breathe. 

After a pause the bird began again, and 
for one perfect hour we sat there motionless, 
entranced, and took our fill of his matchless 
rhapsody. I longed inexpressibly to see the en- 
chanter, though I dared not stir for fear of start- 
ling him. Perhaps my urgent desire drew him ; 
at any rate he came at last within sight, stood a 
few minutes on the low branch of a tree and 
looked at me, lifting and dropping his expressive 
tail as he did so. Two or three low, rich notes 
bubbled out, as if he had half a mind to sing to 
me ; but he thought better of it and dived off the 
branch into the bushes. We rose to go. 

''This only was lacking," I said. ''This 
crowns my summer. I ask no more, and to- 
morrow I go." 



INDEX. 



American Goldfinch : 

bewitching manners, 253. 

devotion of the male, 255, 256. 

difficulty of watching, 253. 

nervous sitter, a, 256. 

nest, a second, 252. 

nest building, 248, 249, 251, 253. 

nesting ways, 244, 254. 

queer scenes, 245, 246, 247. 

song, 257. 

talk with me, a, 257. 

tragedy again, 250. 

wooing, 244, 247. 

Black and White creeper, 110. 
Black-throated Blue Warbler ; 

delight in nest, 166. 

hard to study, 164. 

nest and mate, 165. 

song, 163. 

studies me, 168. 

vain search for, 169. 

young, 170. 
Bluejay, the young, 77. 

appearance of, 89. 

description of, 91. 

food as bait, 93. 

interest of neighbors, 95. 

not afraid, 92. 

old birds to the rescue, 94. 

stray youngster, a, 93. 
Bobolink, 139. 

attack, 152. 

cries, strange, 139, 140. 

disturbed, 151. 

manners, 139. 

musical call, 153. 

song, 141, 144. 

wiles, 150. 

Cedar Birds, 143. 
Chestnut-sided Warbler, 184, 187. 

adopted infant, 230. 
Chipping Sparrow, 173. 
Crow, the parents, 240, 242. 

two sides to the question, 242. 



Crow, the young, 236, 

alighting, 238. 

coaxing ways, 238. 

cry, a strange, 237. 

efforts to learn, 239. 

experimenting in food, 240. 

object lesson, an, 241. 
Cuckoo, the Black Billed, 190, 

curious performance, 194. 

male, the, 192. 

mother tactics, the, 199. 

nest, 191. 

nest deserted, 198. 

relieving the sitter, 192. 

sitting bird, the, 191. 

struck dumb, 190. 

ventriloquism, 192. 

young, 194. 
Curiosity of Birds, 4. 

Golden - winged Woodpecker, or 
Flicker : 

cry of young, 40, 44. 

dress, 36. 

feeding, 39, 40, 43. 

flight of young, 46. 

manners, 35, 38. 

nest, 34. 

nest deserted, 47. 

preparing to leave, 42, 43, 45. 

setting house in order, 101. 

teaching the* young, 134. 

ventriloquism, 102. 

young appear, 39, 
Gray Squirrel : 

cry of, 178. 

poacher, 207. 
Great-crested Fly-catcher, 227. 

Hermit Thrush, 259. 

search for, 262. 

shyness of, 261. 

song, 266. 

voice, 259. 

young, 265. 
Humming Bird as poacher, 207. 



270 



INDEX. 



Insects, destruction of, 18, 23. 

Junco, nest, 132. 
young, 133. 

BLingbird : 

bathing, 26. 

character, 3, 12, 17. 

curious antics, 232. 

distinguishing marks, 14. 

English sparrow annoyance, 12. 

feeding, 21, 22, 25. 

greeting to mate, 8. 

nest of, 2. 

nesting habits, 9, 20. 

night perch, 14. 

oriole encounter, 5. 

preparing to sit, 7. 

robin encounter, 6, 10. 

sitting, 13. 

song, 14. 

treatment of young robin, 31. 

young out, 17, 19. 
Kingbird, the young : 

appearance above the nest, 
22. 

attachment to each other, 24. 

dress of, 25. 

first flight, 28. 

first night out of nest, 29. 

last view, 32. 

leaving the nest, 26. 

migrating cry, 27, 29. 

preparing for flight, 34. 

reception of strangers, 30. 

vireo impertinence, 31. 

voice, 23. 

Mephitis Family, 156. 

Oven Bird, Golden Crowned Thrush : 
accident to nest, 177. 
good sense of, 178. 
nest, 177. 
Bong, 177. 

Partridge, a sitting, 80. 
Phoebe, 223. 

manners, 224. 

strange performance, 225. 

Red-headed Woodpecker, 211, 223. 
after berries, 215, 219. 
comical attitudes, 216. 
feeding on the ground, 212. 
fly-catching, 217. 
frolics of young, 219. 
greeting to mate, 216. • 

insulted by robin, 214. 
on the raspberries, 214. 



Red-headed Woodpecker, continued: 

poaching, 213. 

robin surveillance, 216. 

settling with the robin, 215. 

young, 217. 
Redstart 

and chestnut-sided warbler, 184. 

caution of, 54. 

curiosity. 111. 

description, 50. 

hostility, 49. 

in rain, 53. 

nest, 49, 59. 

nesting habits, 51, 58. 

out of nest, 56. 

out of shell, 53. 

treatment of young, 55. 

young identified, 189. 
Red Squirrel, 234. 
Robin, a saucy, 70. 

morning song, 173. 

on guard, 216. 

special policeman, 226. 

subdued, 37. 

surveillance, 87. 

takes a hint, 51. 
Rose-breasted Grosbeak, 86. 

Scarlet Tanager : 

bathing, 161. 

nest, 159. 

shyness, 160. 

young, 162. 
Song Sparrow, 173. 
Sparrow Hawk, 250. 

Towhee Bunting, young, 105. 

Veery, Wilson's Thrush : 
bleating cry. 111. 
calls and cries, 125. 
cry of young, 107. 
description of young, 113. 
distress of parents, 120, 124, 

126. 
empty nest, 120. 
friendliness, 126. 
humorist, 127. 
mother, the, 109. 
nest destroyed, 117. 
nest seeking, 115. 
nests found, 116, 118, 119, 124. 
solitude, love of, 125. 
song, 99, 106, 260. 

Warbler life, problems in, 184, 264. 
Wood-pewee, 68., 

nest, 131. 

song, 70. 
Wood-thrush, 200. 



INDEX. 



271 



Yellow-bellied Woodpecker, or Sap- 
sucker, 173, 201. 

drumming habit, 207. 

food habits, 203. 

frolics, 205. 

manners, 203, 204. 

nest, 209. 

traps, 204. 

voice, 202. 

young, 135, 209, 2i0. 
Young Birds : 

black-throated blue warbler, 
170. 

bluebird, 72. 

brown thrush, 61. 

chestnut-sided warbler, 229. 

crow, 236. 

crow blackbird, 228. 

cuckoo, 194, 



Young Birds, continued : 
downy woodpecker, 229. 
hermit thrush, 205. 
in rain, 175. 
kingbird, 22, 232. 
learning to flock, G8. 
other young birds, 74, 233, 263. 
out, 23. 
red - headed woodpecker, 217, 

233. 
scarlet tanager, 162. 
swallow, 65. 
towhee bunting, 105. 
veery, 113. 
Wilson's thrush, 113. 
woodpecker, 175. 
wood-pewee, 71. 
yellow-bellied woodpecker, 135, 

209. 



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The Maine Woods. By Henry D. Thoreau. 

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